tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193449492017-09-03T04:52:52.179-07:00Harvest BeautyLindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150657897645335754noreply@blogger.comBlogger479125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19344949.post-7224277850616103142017-06-08T20:58:00.001-07:002017-06-08T20:58:07.135-07:00That First Day, For Better or Worse<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CVP7CQQnsHg/WTCJGfSWH2I/AAAAAAAANtI/N0cKzwHr7poM6vlARxjop6dQ24NPwSM7gCEw/s1600/IMG_0278.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CVP7CQQnsHg/WTCJGfSWH2I/AAAAAAAANtI/N0cKzwHr7poM6vlARxjop6dQ24NPwSM7gCEw/s640/IMG_0278.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Day one with Eliza was both beautiful and disastrous.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Beautiful because, new baby. &nbsp;Disastrous because... well, we'll get to that.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">There's a lot to do when you have a brand new baby, you know. &nbsp;There's the nursing and the loving and the holding and the staring, of course, but there are also stacks of forms to fill out and packets of papers to read and, apparently, videos to watch nowadays that teach you the proper way to put your baby to sleep. There are siblings to meet and pictures to take and texts to send to all the far reaching friends and family. And all of it is fun and exciting. &nbsp;All of it, that is, except for one form this time: the birth certificate. It was easy to fill out the date and the time of birth and the parents information, of course, but then there was that one blank line that I could not, for the life of me, decide what to fill it with.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Baby's Name: _________________</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Blank.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Blank.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Blank.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">For hours it sat on the rolling table at the side of my bed calling for attention, calling for decision. The name we had been so mostly sure of, Matilda (Tillie) Jean, just wasn't working for some reason when I looked at this brand new baby. I love that name because it was my great-grandmother's name, but every single time I tried to use Matilda or Tillie my tongue seemed to get stuck and I couldn't even&nbsp;<i>say</i>&nbsp;it. I'd try to use it to say hello to this precious new face, but all that would come out as I stared into her eyes was, "Helloooooo... ... ... ... baaaaby,"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The nurses would ask what our name candidates were and, again, I couldn't even bring myself to mention the name Matilda in the list of possibilities. "Isabelle," I'd say to them without hesitation. "Addison," would roll off my tongue even though it wasn't my favorite. "Abigail," no problem. And when Brian was there to offer Matilda I would almost cringe at the sound of it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>Something's weird</i>, I felt. I've always felt that no matter what name you choose, the child will grow into it and become that name without too much trouble. &nbsp;I've never really feel like there is a&nbsp;<i>right</i>&nbsp;name that goes along with a baby (my babies anyway), but in this case there certainly seemed to be a&nbsp;<i>wrong</i>&nbsp;one.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Alone in my hospital bed I watched her sleeping face through the clear plastic siding of her bassinet and thought through all of the names on our list of finalists. &nbsp;None of them seemed to work either.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>Who&nbsp;</i>are<i>&nbsp;you?&nbsp;</i>I asked quietly. &nbsp;But she didn't answer. And so I kept staring and thinking and tumbling names over and over each other in my mind, pulling them out at random and trying them out. &nbsp;<i>Amelia?</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>Emily?</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>Elizabeth?</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>Rumplestiltskin?</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Somehow, names that we hadn't even considered before tumbled right alongside the ones that had been on our lists for months. Actually, let's be truthful here... that didn't really happen&nbsp;<i>somehow</i>, I&nbsp;<i>know</i>&nbsp;how. It was because&nbsp;I had pulled out my phone earlier and in desperate attempt landed all the way back at square one as I typed 'Baby Girl Names' into the Google search bar.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She squirmed and scrunched her face ever so slightly and at that moment a new name came floating past my consciousness.&nbsp;<i>Eliza.</i>&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">"Eliza?" I said out loud. "Are you Eliza?" The name had been on one of our lists in the past and I had loved it, but somewhere along the line it had dropped from the finalists. Now, though, I loved the way it seemed to have fallen from my tongue as I watched her tiny face. Warmth filled my body and a small smile spread at the corners of my mouth.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>Hm... Maybe Eliza then.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">But there was a problem. Brian and the kids had been happily calling her Tillie for a while now, sporadically for over a month, and frequently since her birth, and that made me a little anxious to bring up my discontent.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Meanwhile back at home church had ended and the children had already dressed down into their regular clothes. Brian had fed them lunch and they were getting all ready for the exciting trip out to the hospital to meet their new baby sister. &nbsp;They sent me a video that I watched from my hospital bed just before a nurse came in to check my vitals, and they were all&nbsp;<i>so</i>&nbsp;excited and&nbsp;<i>so&nbsp;</i>beautiful that it was all I could do to restrain myself from holding the nurse captive to watch it along with me again. &nbsp;I let her be, but just look at this snapshot of the video... isn't it precious?!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PrSSMuZHx8o/WTSPoFZS7uI/AAAAAAAANuA/Ch5uogCXu4Agdniuvh38jiv34wOXbX2cgCEw/s1600/Screenshot_20170604-154643.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PrSSMuZHx8o/WTSPoFZS7uI/AAAAAAAANuA/Ch5uogCXu4Agdniuvh38jiv34wOXbX2cgCEw/s640/Screenshot_20170604-154643.png" width="360" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">You know from my previous post about how amazing the next couple of hours were. &nbsp;We all oohed and ahhhed over her cuteness and her awesome (for my babies) head of hair,<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ujzRXTsYET8/WTc5IIYlxAI/AAAAAAAANuY/TYVGeEwu8-APs0LvOhyRHYyJ7HNFrL-swCEw/s1600/Eliza_03_original%2B%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="900" height="512" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ujzRXTsYET8/WTc5IIYlxAI/AAAAAAAANuY/TYVGeEwu8-APs0LvOhyRHYyJ7HNFrL-swCEw/s640/Eliza_03_original%2B%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">and after the children had had their fill Brian took them back home to stay at the Calverts. &nbsp;After dropping them off he turned right around to make his way back to the hospital. He called on his way and somewhere near the end of the conversation I mustered up some courage to say, "Hey, um... so... I don't think this is Matilda." &nbsp;There was a slight pause as he absorbed the comment.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">"No?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">"No. It just feels weird. I can't even&nbsp;<i>say&nbsp;</i>it to her... I keep calling her 'baby' whenever I try. I don't know... we can talk about it later, but I'm really starting to think about 'Eliza' again... Just think about it."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">"Hm..."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">"...Maybe..."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uPIW7XbSix0/WTCJGh1VhQI/AAAAAAAANtU/ClREY0KXOI49wFPu8mWabXa6hd7nrl87gCEw/s1600/IMG_0279.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="533" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uPIW7XbSix0/WTCJGh1VhQI/AAAAAAAANtU/ClREY0KXOI49wFPu8mWabXa6hd7nrl87gCEw/s640/IMG_0279.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br />It was around this point, 5pm, that things started taking a bit of a nosedive. &nbsp;Hospitals are not my favorite place mostly because it's just so hard to get some decent sleep with all the interruptions going on all day and all night (and isn't it interesting that a place that's whole purpose is to help people heal doesn't do a better job at utilizing the body's greatest healing tool?). I had not slept a minute the entire night before because, labor, and then after a two hour nap on Sunday morning the rest of the day was spent getting up and down and in and out of bed caring for a brand new baby. Every time I would just get her to sleep, a nurse would come to check her vitals, bringing all the noise of a hospital with her, unwrapping the baby so completely and moving her around so quickly that the baby didn't stand a chance against it and would wake back up and feel hungry all over again. By 5pm my eyes were heavy from the want of sleep and my body felt weak and sore and grumpy. Yet the baby did not sleep. &nbsp;And she was getting louder. I walked with her around the hospital room and bounced her gently till the point where I felt physically sick enough that I feared I would actually pass out there on the floor, holding the baby in my arms. &nbsp;Thankfully Brian was close to making it back and when he arrived he took over. I stayed in bed after that point, but sleep was still far away. &nbsp;Between what felt like constant nursing of a fussy baby and poorly timed nurse interruptions and the baby getting fussier and fussier as the hours went on, there was no room for sleep. &nbsp;Eventually, Eliza became inconsolable and no amount of nursing or walking or bouncing could stop the screaming. &nbsp;For hours. And hours. And hours. Minute by minute... second by second... through the latest hours of the night and the earliest hours of the morning... stuck in that tiny room with nowhere to go.<br /><br />Her screams were confusing us - we'd never had a baby cry so hard for so long and we could not figure out what they meant or how to stop them. &nbsp;It felt like we'd forgotten everything we ever knew about how to care for a newborn and at 5:00 in the morning, just as the sky was beginning to lighten after my second night of no sleep, my emotions broke and the flood of tears that coursed down my cheeks was quiet, but unstoppable. A cardiac nurse came in to check the baby's heart and I sat there listening to the cries of my fifth child and had no choice but to continue crying right along with her. I was able to answer all the questions the nurse had for me with a surprisingly calm voice but the tears were coming fast and hard and after the nurse had finished her assessment of the baby she gently asked, "Would you like for me to get your nurse?"<br /><br />"Um...," I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head helplessly. Really, I knew I just needed a little sleep, and evidently a refresher course on parenting 101, but there was no nursery or parenting course, so it didn't seem like there was much of anything to be done.<br />"Well..." Brian said with the same helpless tone I felt in my own heart, "Probably not... I don't think there's anything she can do for us. We just need to get home so we can sleep."<br /><br />Minutes later, however, my nurse came in and asked through the baby's screams if she could take her to the nurses station and give her a little bit of formula. I had been trying to nurse her almost non-stop but, of course, my milk had not come in yet and the little bit that she was getting didn't seem to be cutting it.<br />"Do you think she's just hungry?" I asked the nurse.<br />"I think she's just hungry," she confirmed. &nbsp;"I can give you a couple of hours of rest."<br /><i>Yes!&nbsp;</i>I wanted to shout.&nbsp;<i>Please!</i>&nbsp;I wanted to scream.&nbsp;<i>Take her and feed her and love her while I sleep!</i>&nbsp;But instead I looked at her and calmly said, "Yes, that would be wonderful... thank you."<br /><br />She was only able to take Eliza for one hour, but in that hour she fed her and Eliza fell sound asleep. &nbsp;Brian and I did too and the three of us slept hard in that little room, undisturbed (thanks to the nurse who passed along the message to the rest of the staff that we needed to be left alone) until 10am. &nbsp;I felt like a new person after those 5 beautiful hours of sleep!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KvQYcvx4VYI/WTc5IHgxwYI/AAAAAAAANu0/bnw1vKD-oAUFzPWttaiHDTQ67xg-kctDQCEw/s1600/IMG_0423.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KvQYcvx4VYI/WTc5IHgxwYI/AAAAAAAANu0/bnw1vKD-oAUFzPWttaiHDTQ67xg-kctDQCEw/s640/IMG_0423.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P5Wi7mKqOC8/WTc5IZ2JAjI/AAAAAAAANu0/W8lGJRM0xJQtrTRTqulAjcNvvGcPI_LigCEw/s1600/IMG_0426.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P5Wi7mKqOC8/WTc5IZ2JAjI/AAAAAAAANu0/W8lGJRM0xJQtrTRTqulAjcNvvGcPI_LigCEw/s640/IMG_0426.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ca4ThwWFjdQ/WTc5IY1LpcI/AAAAAAAANu0/SLI5P9l0p4U5XZu5w7RD64-ZWd5xerNVwCEw/s1600/IMG_0428.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ca4ThwWFjdQ/WTc5IY1LpcI/AAAAAAAANu0/SLI5P9l0p4U5XZu5w7RD64-ZWd5xerNVwCEw/s640/IMG_0428.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Eliza was even more beautiful when she woke - happy and pleasant and absolutely perfect. &nbsp;We started packing everything up to go home and when we came to the pile of papers with the birth certificate information on top Brian pulled out his pen. &nbsp;We'd had a lot of time to talk and ponder through the sleepless night and we were both falling more and more in love with this new name. So when Brian picked up the pen to complete the form, it didn't seem as difficult at all.<br /><br />Name:&nbsp;<i><u>Eliza Lindsay Alder</u>&nbsp;&nbsp;</i>he scrawled in his almost illegible handwriting. &nbsp;"Okay," he said, "it's done."<br /><br />And so it was. That day, after we named her, we learned that Brian has two grandmothers both several generations back named Eliza. Incredible women, one of whom who took her young family across the plains in the Willie Martin Handcart company. We have since read their stories and felt their voices and they are absolutely remarkable examples of courage, strength, and deep faith which leaves me to wonder: was this meant to be? &nbsp;Maybe this little Eliza will need to feel a deep connection with those particular stories somewhere down the line... Could those women have been sitting in that hospital room somehow influencing my decision? I can't deny that the thought has crossed my mind.<br /><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o5Ej0m9gLxg/WTc5ISfh-hI/AAAAAAAANu0/bhKVDBciIU8fktbjUWkth32SWc8M-QTFgCEw/s1600/eliza_original.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o5Ej0m9gLxg/WTc5ISfh-hI/AAAAAAAANu0/bhKVDBciIU8fktbjUWkth32SWc8M-QTFgCEw/s640/eliza_original.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />Eventually the wristbands were cut and the dispatch papers were signed and it was time to pack everything, and everyone, into the van. &nbsp;I love the feeling of driving away from the hospital with a brand new baby strapped snugly in the backseat. In a beautiful way it always feels like I'm leaving an old self behind, and this time was no different... driving away from our old life and into our new life as a family of seven.<br /><br />And the kids only called her Tillie for about another week...<br /><br />...and then 'Eliza' was here to stay.Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150657897645335754noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19344949.post-29030340164898511082017-05-31T15:05:00.000-07:002017-05-31T15:05:17.888-07:00Meet Eliza<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wQoD-mBqmjI/WSxgvuImzRI/AAAAAAAANnk/A2JSHSrWmtgGbgXUBEwegmDnTVpExX1VgCEw/s1600/IMG_0367.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="533" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wQoD-mBqmjI/WSxgvuImzRI/AAAAAAAANnk/A2JSHSrWmtgGbgXUBEwegmDnTVpExX1VgCEw/s640/IMG_0367.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />I feel like I could stare at this picture for hours...<br /><br />Experience has shown me that someday soon I'll come back across this picture and hardly believe how small the children are. But today, in this moment, those faces are so real and so current and this picture is so beautifully representative of my every single day. &nbsp;I <i>know</i>&nbsp;these kids. &nbsp;I know the details in their faces, the tones of their voices, the ways in which they phrase their words and sentences... I know the ways they think, the strengths that make them proud, the weaknesses on which they're currently working...<br /><br />It kills me that many of the memories covering the details behind this photo are too elusive to be captured through photo or word and will therefore remain subject to the fading of time. But even so, the promise of that future fading cannot take away the vibrancy that is here in my today.<br /><br />And I drank deeply from that vibrancy on the day I watched my older kids meet and hold their newest little sister.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qFFBWXrBdBY/WSxgvpgiUiI/AAAAAAAANoc/JdQEX38t-ckdSn-3BlyYzaOeTc_N0DWFACEw/s1600/IMG_0347.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qFFBWXrBdBY/WSxgvpgiUiI/AAAAAAAANoc/JdQEX38t-ckdSn-3BlyYzaOeTc_N0DWFACEw/s640/IMG_0347.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />McKenzie was just as tender as I expected her to be. &nbsp;She wrapped that baby up in her arms and held her with a gentle confidence that brought tears to my eyes.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ilrd0L_G4GU/WSxgwCf9zGI/AAAAAAAANoc/BjcuOozQGkEkK7RFe1crWgXV5E4H6fB5ACEw/s1600/IMG_0397.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ilrd0L_G4GU/WSxgwCf9zGI/AAAAAAAANoc/BjcuOozQGkEkK7RFe1crWgXV5E4H6fB5ACEw/s640/IMG_0397.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />She was quiet and calm and amazed by all of the baby's tiniest features. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wDW6YbbMTSE/WSxgwID0RRI/AAAAAAAANoc/JvySWP_832kkor-u5g_4pMQ--PfQI4NDACEw/s1600/IMG_0406.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wDW6YbbMTSE/WSxgwID0RRI/AAAAAAAANoc/JvySWP_832kkor-u5g_4pMQ--PfQI4NDACEw/s640/IMG_0406.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />One of my greatest hopes is to see the beautiful bond of sisterhood between these two. I already know that McKenzie will be a fierce protector, a confident leader, and an incredible example for Eliza. McKenzie is a strong and loving friend to have in your corner.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-86OXd7x1iAo/WSxgwEFB2tI/AAAAAAAANoc/xqpQg2GUyY0hsJAfx9JhelksfXK1lhNCQCEw/s1600/IMG_0389.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-86OXd7x1iAo/WSxgwEFB2tI/AAAAAAAANoc/xqpQg2GUyY0hsJAfx9JhelksfXK1lhNCQCEw/s640/IMG_0389.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />And Carson...<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z8yhrad6dlQ/WSxgvhtN-sI/AAAAAAAANoc/PJygwcD1h6o0WQ7USx_JgIY0yAl7P2nMQCEw/s1600/IMG_0370.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z8yhrad6dlQ/WSxgvhtN-sI/AAAAAAAANoc/PJygwcD1h6o0WQ7USx_JgIY0yAl7P2nMQCEw/s640/IMG_0370.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Carson by nature is gentle and kind. He quietly absorbed the warmth and peace and joy that came from Eliza and his face was full of tenderness during the entire visit. <br /><br />I absolutely love the way Eliza is looking up at him in this next photo.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BZWmN_YPQi8/WSxgv9WhdtI/AAAAAAAANoc/AX59qwT0VP8vhBUEk9O1r_qGTUSuQVhiQCEw/s1600/IMG_0382.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="533" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BZWmN_YPQi8/WSxgv9WhdtI/AAAAAAAANoc/AX59qwT0VP8vhBUEk9O1r_qGTUSuQVhiQCEw/s640/IMG_0382.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br />He will be a great strength to her as she grows. &nbsp;I just know he will keep her laughing with his witty sense of humor and keep her filled with love from his kindness.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bIz4NZ10kgw/WSxgwcIxXdI/AAAAAAAANoc/A1Hwx5TinQQjcqNnMPiyxMIRXoxN68GoQCEw/s1600/IMG_0413.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bIz4NZ10kgw/WSxgwcIxXdI/AAAAAAAANoc/A1Hwx5TinQQjcqNnMPiyxMIRXoxN68GoQCEw/s640/IMG_0413.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />While everyone else was happy exploring the hospital room, playing with latex gloves, and listening to Daddy tell the story of Eliza's birth, it was Carson that felt pulled to stay with and hold and rock Eliza. He is so strong in his goodness, and there are so many amazing personality traits that stem from that and make him an incredible example for Eliza to look up to.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vz9pJlZpu3w/WSxguMV39zI/AAAAAAAANoc/Wqtru0ksxQ4m36ezlRKGTkV_NU0uVu9zACEw/s1600/20170409_174519.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vz9pJlZpu3w/WSxguMV39zI/AAAAAAAANoc/Wqtru0ksxQ4m36ezlRKGTkV_NU0uVu9zACEw/s640/20170409_174519.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Now Miles, I wasn't sure how he would react... my unsure feelings probably stemmed from the shockingly negative reaction he had had four years earlier with the arrival of Timothy. I was pretty sure that he'd be excited and happy this time around, but I was unprepared for just <i>how&nbsp;</i>excited and happy he actually was.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uly5J3PGUIo/WSx8P9yNTFI/AAAAAAAANpM/krROZK8GoW0HBftUyL-7Bxw6nn6FA2tlACLcB/s1600/IMG_0340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uly5J3PGUIo/WSx8P9yNTFI/AAAAAAAANpM/krROZK8GoW0HBftUyL-7Bxw6nn6FA2tlACLcB/s640/IMG_0340.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />He was absolutely delighted! He came skipping into the hospital room and spent the entire visit with that giant, infectious smile of his glowing on his face. He bounced all of his steps and responded gleefully to every little squeak and grunt and squirm that came from Eliza's little body.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bFr2LMzGFls/WSx8Pljz8SI/AAAAAAAANpo/WOfD-V32hTwnAL0ar1dd3LRcILfzOIRLACEw/s1600/IMG_0334.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="533" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bFr2LMzGFls/WSx8Pljz8SI/AAAAAAAANpo/WOfD-V32hTwnAL0ar1dd3LRcILfzOIRLACEw/s640/IMG_0334.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br />He didn't mind when Eliza started to fuss and found even her cry to be adorable and joyful. Miles brightened the entire hospital room with his happiness. And how lucky for Eliza to have that in her life! When Miles is happy he has a way of spreading that happiness all around him like confetti.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xtW_BMnrgaA/WSx8P7UT22I/AAAAAAAANpo/EMk1ukxIiocF1CqTXnzFOecl8wPb4z-TgCEw/s1600/IMG_0419.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xtW_BMnrgaA/WSx8P7UT22I/AAAAAAAANpo/EMk1ukxIiocF1CqTXnzFOecl8wPb4z-TgCEw/s640/IMG_0419.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />And I love that he is able to find great joy in simple things. These purple latex gloves took the excitement and happiness to a whole new level. &nbsp;Miles adds so much to our family! and I'm so excited that Eliza has his example to teach her.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GPo-dym0rgw/WS3mf-hCLrI/AAAAAAAANp0/BQHkig6fqDoCr4GscvQWa2dlK9My7dW6wCLcB/s1600/IMG_0299.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GPo-dym0rgw/WS3mf-hCLrI/AAAAAAAANp0/BQHkig6fqDoCr4GscvQWa2dlK9My7dW6wCLcB/s640/IMG_0299.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Timothy was absolutely precious to watch. I love the anticipation in his face above as Daddy started bringing Eliza close to him for the first time. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bi73mSpvZL8/WS3mfz4CTwI/AAAAAAAANqI/DE-LgIFnRrUgWEYmciPpn12lCZc-bMsKwCEw/s1600/IMG_0302.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="533" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bi73mSpvZL8/WS3mfz4CTwI/AAAAAAAANqI/DE-LgIFnRrUgWEYmciPpn12lCZc-bMsKwCEw/s640/IMG_0302.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br />My favorite thing about Timothy was watching his hands. &nbsp;He kept all four of his fingers on each hand stuck together in a single unit, as if he couldn't trust himself to pay them enough attention individually for fear he might poke or scratch or otherwise harm the baby if one of them went rogue.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-neBNqGq5mXQ/WS3mgSiZdII/AAAAAAAANqI/32kTpG41boIu1oXcT1phLAklHjozLNBYgCEw/s1600/IMG_0308.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-neBNqGq5mXQ/WS3mgSiZdII/AAAAAAAANqI/32kTpG41boIu1oXcT1phLAklHjozLNBYgCEw/s640/IMG_0308.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />It's not every day we get to see such a calm side of Timothy. &nbsp;He has been full of life lately - opinionated and strong - but he tucked all of that away for the hours he sat with Eliza. &nbsp;He felt charged with his new responsibility of Big Brother, and he did not take the title lightly. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jOJRSTuu3js/WS3mgBRgdxI/AAAAAAAANqI/83n9uFvFG2Q9YUQS3Xf0yW5jOmzZH-DewCEw/s1600/IMG_0305.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jOJRSTuu3js/WS3mgBRgdxI/AAAAAAAANqI/83n9uFvFG2Q9YUQS3Xf0yW5jOmzZH-DewCEw/s640/IMG_0305.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />He sat quiet and still and humbly listened to every small instruction Daddy was giving him on How to Hold a Baby.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kErR8hVX3LE/WS3mgs5gEOI/AAAAAAAANqI/SVCs4pnhoiI_XNKIDU5bqcijXx0M8z45QCEw/s1600/IMG_0311.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kErR8hVX3LE/WS3mgs5gEOI/AAAAAAAANqI/SVCs4pnhoiI_XNKIDU5bqcijXx0M8z45QCEw/s640/IMG_0311.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />I love it when his Sweet Eyes come out. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VuxFq1uLjMY/WS8tp5w9WNI/AAAAAAAANqU/mBh1vG5d_oIbZ1_EDvBuf5NBtnGZi-W9QCLcB/s1600/Eliza_06_original.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VuxFq1uLjMY/WS8tp5w9WNI/AAAAAAAANqU/mBh1vG5d_oIbZ1_EDvBuf5NBtnGZi-W9QCLcB/s640/Eliza_06_original.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />After his turn was over, he still hovered around and hugged anyone else who happened to be holding Eliza.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HoeUAZmCmnY/WS8t_0a4KdI/AAAAAAAANqY/97F9wbBNjCISOOlr0H2LrMbauurmF0OiwCLcB/s1600/IMG_0341.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HoeUAZmCmnY/WS8t_0a4KdI/AAAAAAAANqY/97F9wbBNjCISOOlr0H2LrMbauurmF0OiwCLcB/s640/IMG_0341.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />And shushed her sweetly any time she started to fuss. Timothy has an umbrella of love over his head and if you're lucky enough to stand under it with him you will feel the magic of his little spirit. Lucky Eliza to live in the same house as Timothy.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SWEdT2J8wkk/WS8uZiISWeI/AAAAAAAANqc/RRSGsLge0_AfDry5g0TtyD2I8epgjWTTQCLcB/s1600/IMG_0450.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SWEdT2J8wkk/WS8uZiISWeI/AAAAAAAANqc/RRSGsLge0_AfDry5g0TtyD2I8epgjWTTQCLcB/s640/IMG_0450.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As the oldest of four kids, I have often wondered what it would be like to have older siblings to look up to. &nbsp;A sister or a brother who was always one step ahead of me who I could turn to for advice and guidance... it sounds dreamy. &nbsp;Thankfully I've had friends put in my path who fill that role for me, but I'm so happy for Eliza to have that built in to her life from her very first day of life. &nbsp;Her siblings are such wonderful people and I have no doubt they will be there, watching her back and loving her, every step of the way.</div>Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150657897645335754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19344949.post-30364674285492829672017-05-24T14:18:00.001-07:002017-05-24T17:18:07.166-07:00BabyWe were ready this time. &nbsp;The crib was set up with fresh, clean sheets. The tiniest clothes had tumbled through the laundry machines and lay folded in pretty white baskets that lined the closet shelves. New blankets of the softest material and in every shade of pink smelled sweetly of laundry detergent and lay on the shelf closest to the crib. The carseat and stroller shined after their good scrub down. A brand new baby swing waited in the corner of the living room. My hospital bag sat packed and ready.<br /><br />And we waited.<br /><br /><i>Any day now,</i>&nbsp;I told the children when they asked. &nbsp;<i>Any day now,&nbsp;</i>the children repeated to their teachers and friends.<br /><br />I had reason to believe she would come early. &nbsp;All the other babies had. &nbsp;Some by one week, another by two, and little Timothy had arrived four and a half weeks before his expected time. However, the days on my calendar kept flipping by and we found ourselves coming closer and closer to that little square with the 11 in the corner and the little red box inside of it that read Baby Due!!!<br /><br /><i>Any contractions?</i>&nbsp;Brian would ask each time he called from work.&nbsp;<i>Any contractions?</i>&nbsp;Brian would ask each time he saw me pause.&nbsp;<i>Any contractions?</i>&nbsp;Brian would ask any time he saw my face.&nbsp;<i>Any contractions?</i>&nbsp;Brian would ask every time he took a breath. And each time, for days that turned into weeks, I would either shake my head or tell him, again, that he&nbsp;<i>really</i>&nbsp;needed to stop asking that question. &nbsp;<i>She'll come when she comes,</i>&nbsp;I thought, though it was rather disheartening to be reminded over and over that absolutely nothing seemed to be happening. &nbsp;Most days and in the good moments I was able to find his question rather endearing because it gave beautiful illustration to the fact that he was just. so. excited.<br /><br /><i>Really, it could change in a moment,</i>&nbsp;Brian said one day as we were driving along the road in our minivan,&nbsp;<i>right?</i><br /><br /><i>Yep,&nbsp;</i>I said. &nbsp;<i>Any moment.</i>&nbsp;He knew that answer of course, but somehow saying it out loud made us both feel better.&nbsp;<i>Just because I'm not having many contractions doesn't mean all that much. My water could still break any second... progressive contractions could start any time... maybe we'll find ourselves driving to the hospital in an hour...?</i><br /><i><br /></i>And so it went. For days upon days. Always ready, always attentive, always waiting for the Moment of Change.<br /><br />Here and there pockets of Bad Timing lurked. Some were little things, such as the evening Brian attended the temple with the youth, or each day he had to drive out to the furthest clinic for work. &nbsp;Some were bigger things, such as the few operating days on Brian's calendar where he had a schedule full of patients who had been waiting for weeks to have their eye surgeries.<br /><br />Some of the Bad Timing pockets lasted an entire day, such as my birthday.&nbsp;<i>You don't want to have to share a birthday with your mother your whole childhood,</i>&nbsp;I whispered to her early that morning before I got out of bed,&nbsp;<i>so stay comfy in there for today, sweetheart.&nbsp;</i>Or April Fools Day. &nbsp;<i>It's not a&nbsp;</i>big<i>&nbsp;deal, but if you want your very own day then you should wait this one out, love.&nbsp;</i>Or the weekend of General Conference.&nbsp;<i>Your brothers and sister looked so very frightened when I mentioned that if you came this weekend we would not be watching conference as a family this time around.</i><br /><br />Speaking of General Conference, the whole idea of the baby's birthday mixing with it was very worrisome to McKenzie. You see, our church holds a General Conference twice a year where our prophet and his apostles and other inspiring leaders give incredible, inspired talks that are delivered in a giant assembly hall and broadcast worldwide, and it always falls on the weekend that contains the first Sunday in April (and then again in October). &nbsp;We make it a big deal in this house. We block off the days and cook and bake all sorts of delicious foods and have several small bowls filled with different kinds of candy that the kids eat largely unregulated. We pull out the picnic blanket and spread it in front of the TV and it is the only time during the whole year that food is allowed in the family room. The kids print out all sorts of coloring pages and pull out creative, quiet toys such as magnets or legos, and then we sit together as a family to eat and create and watch and listen for four hours on Saturday, and for another four hours on Sunday.&nbsp;Some of us take notes on the ideas and feelings that meant the most to us, and now that the kids are getting older we have some great conversations afterwards about the lessons we learned. &nbsp;It's a special weekend and we look forward to it with great excitement. McKenzie loves it the most out of all the kids currently, and was disheartened when she learned that the baby might have to share her birthday with such an important and special weekend on any occasion her birthday happened to fall on a Saturday or a Sunday. Which in McKenzie's mind put the Very Bad Timing stamp on all of the dates from April 1st through the 7th.<br /><br />Timothy's biggest timing concern came with the presence of a Ferris Wheel that had appeared overnight and stood towering above our town. &nbsp;The traveling fair was almost ready to open during that first week in April, and the Ferris Wheel was&nbsp;<i>almost&nbsp;</i>ready to ride,&nbsp;<i>almost</i>... It was all lit up at nights and looked so incredibly fun that he wanted nothing more in his whole life than to ride it. So we promised him that we would take him as soon as possible after it opened - as long as the baby didn't come before then.<br /><br />Thankfully, almost all of Bad Timing pockets had melted away into the past by the time Friday the 7th rolled around. Brian was home by 10am with an entire work-free week ahead of him and we started to get serious about doing all we could to get something, anything, moving. &nbsp;<i>We should go for a long walk,</i>&nbsp;I suggested as he came through the door. &nbsp;So with tennis shoes and a stroller we walked briskly down to the local airport to watch the airplanes and helicopters take off, we walked briskly through the park and stopped for a minute to push Timothy on the swings, we walked briskly around the duck ponds and pointed at the brand new baby ducklings swimming along behind their mother, we walked briskly to the local burger place to grab some burgers to fuel more walking and, eventually, out of necessity, we walked briskly back home when the schools got out and Miles came riding his bike up our road at 3pm. &nbsp;Five hours after our walk had begun. And by midnight our final two Bad Timing pockets had melted away as Timothy's dream had come true on the Ferris Wheel and McKenzie's worry about her baby sister ever having to share her birthday with General Conference was laid to rest.<br /><br />That night I felt really good. Comfortable. Restful. And slept peacefully right through the night.<br /><br />Dang.<br /><br />Saturday the 8th I awoke and started in on the Saturday chores. Slowly, the dust bunnies disappeared and the house started to smell of citrus, though it wasn't long before I realized that I was not contributing much. Brian and even the children were cleaning in circles around my aimless wanderings and pitiful efforts to tidy and scrub. My&nbsp;spirits were down, and my logical self was making it worse by telling me that I was acting silly and reminding me that the due date wasn't even for three more days. My grumpy self knew this, of course, and tried to tell my logical self that even so, I had never been this close to my due date before and besides, feelings aren't always logical so butt out please.<br /><br />What is it that makes Waiting so emotionally tiring? I knew I needed to get out of the house to take my mind off the Wait so we decided to go on a family walk, the long way, up to my favorite lunch spot 3 miles away. Of course, we knew the little legs in our family would not last for a brisk 6 mile round trip adventure, so bikes and strollers were allowed to join.<br /><br />Sitting around the lunch table we all made guesses down to the minute as to when our food would come (I won), and around dessert the guesses were made down to the minute as to when the baby would come. That one I refused to play, mostly because the thought fed my grumpy self (<i>she'll come when she comes)&nbsp;</i>but everyone else joined in.<br /><br />"We need to be clear," Brian specified, "that the time you are guessing is the day and minute mom and I decide to go to the hospital, or the day and minute her water breaks. Whichever comes first."<br />"Tonight at 9:00," McKenzie guessed, and I rolled my internal eyes that her guess was so soon because surely I was going to be the first woman to be pregnant forever.<br />"Tuesday at 1:45am," was Timothy's, and I rolled my internal eyes that his guess was so far away because surely the baby must be coming sooner than that.<br />And on and on it went with me feeling grumpy and frustrated and illogically responsible for the outcome.<br /><br />When we returned from lunch I still felt grumpy (even grumpier?) and Brian suggested that I head out to Starbucks with my computer to write and to relax and to grab a hot chocolate. Often when I write I'm able to separate my current feelings from the feelings of the piece on which I'm working, and I had been wanting to blog about the overall sweetness and beauty of my pregnancy for a long time which, I figured, might be a good place for my brain to go. So I took him up on the offer and by 4:00 I was sitting comfortably in one of the soft leather chairs, typing away in my happy place. But by 5:30 I had had a couple of harder-than-normal contractions (though far apart and only 2) and by 6 I couldn't shake the thought of my water breaking right there in such a public space and on such a comfy chair. So the grumpiness returned and I packed everything up to come home.<br /><br />When I walked in the door, Brian raised his eyebrows and drew a breath to ask&nbsp;<i>any contractions?</i>, but I put my hand up to stop him and said, "I just decided I feel more comfortable waiting here than I do waiting there."<br />"Still feeling down?" he observed.<br />"Yeah, I guess," I said, blinking back tears. &nbsp;The truth was that my feelings were all twisted up. I was feeling tired of waiting to be sure, but I had noticed that I also felt a little nervous about the labor and delivery this time around. Which made little sense to me because it's not as if I hadn't done it before. &nbsp;But I'd never done it&nbsp;<i>here</i>&nbsp;before, and I hadn't put much time and effort into researching all of the fine print regarding How They Do Things here. There were question marks... and question marks make me nervous.<br /><br /><i>Maybe a warm bath will help my mood,&nbsp;</i>I thought. So after dinner I disappeared upstairs to try and soak away all the negativity. I read my book and watched a show and listened to Brian wrestle all the kids into bed (he's so amazing) before letting my wrinkly fingers convince me that it was time to get out. I felt a little better and had let my logical self gently remind me as I soaked that I really&nbsp;<i>wouldn't</i>&nbsp;be pregnant forever... even though it seemed that I might. I had worked to harness the faith I have that things have a way of working themselves out, and I had (for the moment) laid my nervousness aside by reminding myself that my body would do what it needed to do. I knew I'd probably have to give myself those little pep talks frequently in order for them to keep working, but for that moment, I felt better.<br /><br />Which felt good. And rather ironic, because as I stood to reach for my towel the Moment of Change arrived with a gush of warm water. &nbsp;I stood there for a few seconds processing the situation - after all, I'd just been sitting in a giant tub full of warm water so it was&nbsp;<i>kind</i>&nbsp;of hard to tell... did I really just feel&nbsp;<i>extra&nbsp;</i>water, or was it all just the&nbsp;<i>same</i>&nbsp;water. &nbsp;Either way, I grabbed my phone and shot off a text to Brian.<br /><br />"I'm pretty sure my water just broke," I typed. "Come."<br /><br />Less than 30 seconds later, Brian came rushing into the bathroom, "Really?!"<br /><br />"I&nbsp;<i>think&nbsp;</i>so. &nbsp;What's the kid situation?"<br /><br />"All the boys are asleep. &nbsp;McKenzie is reading in her room and just about ready to turn out her lights."<br /><br />"Okay, let's give it a little bit to make sure... maybe go tell McKenzie that she can keep reading until we make a decision?"<br /><br />I got dressed quickly and, taking necessary precautions, lay on the bed for a few minutes to see if I could induce any more gushing. Sure enough, when I stood a few minutes later it was unmistakable; my membranes had ruptured and it was time to go to the hospital.<br /><br />We had had several plans in place for the other children depending on what time of day this moment arrived, and the plan for the All Children in Bed and Asleep scenario was that McKenzie, bless her sweet little responsible and mature heart, would be left in charge through the night.<br /><i><br /></i>"I cannot believe how perfect this timing is,<i>"</i>&nbsp;I said to Brian as we placed the last of the items in our hospital bag. To have hit that sweet spot between when all the boys were asleep and before McKenzie was asleep felt divinely orchestrated. It was late enough that she didn't have to worry about putting excited kids to bed, and it was early enough that we didn't have to worry about waking her up. &nbsp;"Why don't you go tell her the news," I said, "and invite her to come sleep in our bed for the night just in case Teek comes in here looking for us."<br /><br />Moments later she came bouncing into the room with wide open arms just for me. &nbsp;"Mom!" she exclaimed with nothing else to say. <br />After a moment of hugging she pulled away and said, "Man, I was&nbsp;<i>so close!"</i><br />"Close to what?" Brian asked.<br />"Guessing the right time! &nbsp;I guessed it would be tonight at 9:00, remember?! &nbsp;It's 9:20."<br />"...McKenzie, wait..." Brian said as he pulled out his phone. "You were closer than you think!" He opened his text messages. "Mom sent a message to me right after her water broke - let's see what time..."<br /><br />9:01pm. &nbsp;And it feasibly took me a minute to get the text off.<br /><br />Coincidence? Probably. But even so, something about her perfect guess seemed so fitting to my heart and it filled me with warmth and joy. The joy was in the connection, I think, the connection I felt flowing from big sister to little sister, little sister to big sister... a connection planted in the richest soil of family, of sisterhood, that could grow and fill them both with a sense of belonging, of comfort, of love throughout their entire lives. How beautiful it is that it was this sweet moment, the moment at nine o'clock on a Saturday night, the Moment of Change, that was the very first thing they shared.<br /><br />Before we left we asked, again and again, to make sure that McKenzie felt comfortable staying the night on her own, "It would not be a big deal to pack you all up and take you to the Calverts," I offered. &nbsp;But she reassured me that she&nbsp;<i>wanted&nbsp;</i>to stay home and that she was excited about getting the boys up and dressed for church the following morning. So we hugged her and kissed her and double-checked all the doors, and as we pulled out of the driveway I knew that the next time I pulled back in things would be so beautifully different.<br /><br />I took one deep breath in the car to connect with myself and then reached for my phone to send a message to my friend, Alycia. &nbsp;The Calvert family has four children who are all remarkably close to the same ages as my own kids, and Alycia was graciously excited to be on stand-by to help with any of the child needs when this moment came. She was thrilled to hear we were on our way to the hospital, and I asked if she would please sleep with her ringer turned up just in case McKenzie needed anything in the middle of the night. &nbsp;I also explained that my kids would get themselves all ready for church the following morning and were planning to walk the short distance to the chapel, but asked if Alycia wouldn't mind saving a seat on their bench for my children to join them. &nbsp;Alycia responded quickly with all the reassuring answers I needed and then asked if McKenzie might feel better if Emma, her own 13-year-old daughter, came to stay the night with her. &nbsp;Generally we don't do sleepovers (and neither do the Calverts), but the thought of having the two of them together felt very comfortable and good to my heart (even though it seemed rather ironic that our No Sleepovers rule was about to be bent for two 13-year-old girls to stay in a big house with absolutely no parental supervision at all (which, I suppose, is a great mark of their goodness)).<br /><br />Meanwhile, Brian and I were almost to the hospital. I felt all sorts of calm as we drove around in search of the front entrance. &nbsp;No pain, no contractions. &nbsp;This was significant because the idea of managing pain and racing against time while trying to navigate to and through a hospital we had never seen before had been one of the biggest stressors in the back of my mind for months. &nbsp;A silly stressor, really, because it was one that could have easily been soothed by one car ride into the city to become familiar with the route and to locate the correct entrance. I'm not entirely sure why I never made it a priority to do that, it certainly wasn't for lack of opportunity, but I think it had something to do with the thought that maybe I wouldn't like what I saw if we drove around the hospital. Due to a mid-pregnancy insurance change (coupled with the lousy coverage of said insurance), delivering in this hospital was the only choice I had and I think there was a little fear in the back of my mind that if I didn't like what I saw I would worry about it for the rest of the pregnancy. &nbsp;So I exchanged that worry for the worry that we would be rushing the clock or fighting the pains while we searched for the correct entrance. Turns out, as is usually the case, I needn't have worried about either. &nbsp;The hospital was wonderful&nbsp;<i>and&nbsp;</i>well marked and we drove right up to the maternity center with no wrong turns, no confused searching, no hassle. &nbsp;We parked close to the front doors in a big, quiet parking lot and the whole experience was pleasant and 438 times less stressful than parking at Costco.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yKU2T_wfdi8/WSX3HBu78VI/AAAAAAAANkA/rZ-9sO1KpRgPeJ1Wfl6QILWGFZWEQmLbwCLcB/s1600/20170408_221135.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yKU2T_wfdi8/WSX3HBu78VI/AAAAAAAANkA/rZ-9sO1KpRgPeJ1Wfl6QILWGFZWEQmLbwCLcB/s640/20170408_221135.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><i>Oh boy,</i>&nbsp;I thought as we approached the big sliding glass doors. &nbsp;"We're going to need to make this check-in quick or I'm going to start making a biiiiiiiiiig mess," I whispered to Brian from the corner of my mouth. &nbsp;Every couple of minutes as we stood waiting for the nurse to come and take us back, more fluid would gush and it wasn't long before all the protection I'd taken had become quite insufficient. "I hope they don't make me sit in a wheelchair," I mumbled to Brian, "because I'm pretty sure sitting down at this point would be a really bad idea." &nbsp;So I was relieved to see the nurse come through the doors with no wheelchair in sight; however, she was not so relieved and with a frustrated, "Oh dear, there is no wheelchair out here," turned around to go back through the doors to retrieve one.<br /><br />"Actually!" I said, holding up my hand. &nbsp;"I'd much rather walk if that's okay... I am leaking quite a bit and if I sat down I'm pretty sure I'd squish all over the place."<br /><br />"Oh," she said, pausing to think for a minute. "Great. Okay. Follow me." As she led us through the doors she turned over her shoulder and asked, "Are you sure your membranes have ruptured?"<br /><br />"I'm very sure," I responded feeling the wetness seeping down my pants. &nbsp;"In a few more seconds I fear I'm going to start leaving a trail behind me."<br /><br />"Alright, then we'll skip the assessment room and just take you straight back to labor and delivery."<br /><br />An hour later I was propped up in bed contemplating three things: number one, how does every single hospital I've ever been to have the exact same blue print hospital gown? Don't they know there are thousands of fabrics out there? Wouldn't it be rather delightful to be surprised with the color and print of your hospital gown once in a while? &nbsp;Number two, I wonder how common it is that other women leave&nbsp;<i>such</i>&nbsp;giant messes in the bathroom while they're changing into these (remarkably boring) hospital gowns.&nbsp;Because&nbsp;<i>dang</i>, I left a big mess in there. Also, turns out meconium in the fluid makes the mess way grosser. Number three: I do believe that this is the most uncomfortable bed I have ever had the misfortune to meet. My feet are actually dangling uselessly several inches off the edge, which is terribly unfortunate because the tilt of the bed seems to have me sliding, ever so slowly, right off the end of it. And it sure would be nice to use those feet to slide me back up... was this built for a toddler?<br /><br />But no matter. It's amazing how something as abstract as your mood can change the whole way you perceive things. &nbsp;If I had met any of those three things in my morning grumpy mood, they would be frustrating, but now that I was in a good mood, the whole situation was rather funny. As was the situation with my nurse.<br /><br />"What do you think of your nurse?" Brian asked when we finally had a minute to ourselves, and I confessed my true feelings, "Sheeeeee's kind of nuts!"<br /><br />"I'm glad your vein didn't burst!" he laughed. &nbsp;"Were you worried about it?"<br /><br />"Um, YES!" I said, and we both laughed thinking back to the moments before the needle pierced my skin.<br /><br />"Okay," the nurse had said as she positioned the needle over my vein, "Oh wow, that's a giant vein. Good! I like giant veins! Usually... though... sometimes those are easier to burst. Okay, whew, I've gotta calm my muscles down a bit." At this, she shook her hands by her side for a second. "My husband and I always watch UFC fights on TV, we just love it and we've always done it, and tonight there was a big match - that's why I was late and the other nurse checked you in - so because I was coming in to work afterwards I didn't have any beer, but I had, like, four Red Bulls so my muscles are so jumpy! &nbsp;Okay, let's hope I don't burst this vein..."<br /><br />And with that measure of confidence she had lowered her head to start the IV.<br /><br />Thankfully my vein had cooperated, so it was easy for Brian and I to laugh about it after she was gone.<br /><br />The doctor wanted to start pitocin since I wasn't having regular contractions, but I asked to wait for a while to see if things started on their own. &nbsp;"I'm not in any hurry," he said, "so if you're not either I say that's just fine." I wasn't either.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fbyoP-JZkwk/WSX3HkMOduI/AAAAAAAANkM/V1fBVfS5ejs6wLrBaWxmu5Sp2pv9DB8YACEw/s1600/IMG_0267.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="533" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fbyoP-JZkwk/WSX3HkMOduI/AAAAAAAANkM/V1fBVfS5ejs6wLrBaWxmu5Sp2pv9DB8YACEw/s640/IMG_0267.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br /><br />My body knew exactly what to do, and by 1:30 in the morning the contractions were hard enough that I had to remind myself to breathe and frequent enough that I was ready for the epidural. &nbsp;Which was a giant relief and took the edge off of the pain. I rested for a little while after that (as much as I could in that ridiculous toddler-sized bed), and Brian fell fast asleep until about 3:05 am when things changed instantly. The extreme pressure paralyzed me and I knew it was time. &nbsp;I was on my left side and the nurses call button seemed miles away behind my shoulder.<br /><br />"Bri?" I whispered to wake him gently. &nbsp;Nothing. &nbsp;"Brian?" I whispered a little louder. Still nothing. &nbsp;The pressure was so intense that it seemed that the baby was pushing and shoving and elbowing her way out right that very moment. &nbsp;"Hey! BRIAN!" He jolted awake and looked over in my direction. &nbsp;"It's time... I need you to come push the call button." &nbsp;He blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes slowly and blinked again trying to clear away the daze. "Bri! I need you NOW!"<br /><br />"Right!" he jumped up from the couch and started stumbling around in unproductive circles, still half awake, knowing he was looking for&nbsp;<i>something</i>&nbsp;but not sure what it was. "The CALL button!" I reminded him. "It's on the bed right next to my shoulder... I can't move, and I can't reach it... I need you to push it!" By the time he got to the button, he had regained his full consciousness and soon the whole room was buzzing with activity and life.<br /><br />"Here comes another one..." I said as the pressure started to mount. &nbsp;I wasn't sure if the doctor was ready, but&nbsp;<i>I</i>&nbsp;was, and felt to inform him of that fact.<br />"Yes, would you like to push?" the doctor asked, finishing up his preparations.<br /><br />I didn't answer verbally, but the green light from him was enough and four pushes later, at 3:09am our little lady arrived - screaming and healthy.<br /><br />I hope to never forget what it feels like to have the weight of my own baby placed on my stomach just a second after birth. &nbsp;It's an incredible feeling really - for months her weight was part of my own and in that one beautiful moment it became all her own, separate from me, lying on top of me, subject to the gravity that pulled her body in softly for that first real hug. &nbsp;It's so beautiful. &nbsp;And the warmth of that moment... the warmth of her soft, new skin filled me almost as completely as the warmth that originated from my heart.<br /><br />The cord was wrapped all around her, tangled in her limbs and grasped in her little fist. We unwove and unwound before Brian cut the cord, and just like that, she was entirely separate from me. &nbsp;But even as the physical bonds became a thing of the past, the emotional bonds grabbed hold of us and soared forever into the future.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sDjHBbnweWc/WSX3H5pOLhI/AAAAAAAANkU/cEInsJQ1SIEnIis2CL3M4SfBbyvtRppmwCEw/s1600/IMG_0271.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sDjHBbnweWc/WSX3H5pOLhI/AAAAAAAANkU/cEInsJQ1SIEnIis2CL3M4SfBbyvtRppmwCEw/s640/IMG_0271.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s5fkBQb12Ps/WSX3H41C2QI/AAAAAAAANkk/k6o7G3ch_gozIlx5oJgAtwEkovvOCMkdQCEw/s1600/IMG_0275.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="533" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s5fkBQb12Ps/WSX3H41C2QI/AAAAAAAANkk/k6o7G3ch_gozIlx5oJgAtwEkovvOCMkdQCEw/s640/IMG_0275.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br />The nurses wiped her off and put a hat on her head without even taking her from me, and I stared at her little face. &nbsp;"Brian!" I said, so full of emotion, "<i>Look</i>&nbsp;at her! &nbsp;She is so,&nbsp;<i>so</i>&nbsp;beautiful." &nbsp;Indeed, she was. &nbsp;Her big, dark eyes were open and alert as she tried to make sense of her new surroundings, and her head was covered in beautiful, dark hair. &nbsp;Her cheeks were so soft and smooth, and her nose turned slightly upwards in a dainty softness. &nbsp;Her fingers were long and straight and her fingernail beds were tiny and perfect. &nbsp;Her lips formed a perfect pout and her little ears lay straight back on her head. &nbsp;She was&nbsp;<i>beautiful.</i><br /><i><br /></i>"Oh, Linds," Brian said as he peered over the top of her head to get a better look, "she is so&nbsp;<i>cute</i>." &nbsp;Cute, beautiful, perfect, we couldn't stop saying over and over just how lovely she was. &nbsp;"Look how sweet she is." &nbsp;"Her face is just so beautiful." "Oh, she is&nbsp;<i>so</i>&nbsp;cute..." &nbsp;"Look how beautiful her eyes are." "She is perfect."&nbsp;I kept expecting the nurses to come along and take her to the nursery to bathe her and check her and do whatever else they do when they take the new babies away. &nbsp;But they never did. &nbsp;Eventually I asked when they were going to take her and was pleasantly surprised when the answer was, "We're not. She's all yours." <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1qFT8Vgv4uo/WSX3HgviNgI/AAAAAAAANkQ/bC-3khZ9SB8n5N1WFHalri4glDN9ZIHhQCEw/s1600/IMG_0269.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1qFT8Vgv4uo/WSX3HgviNgI/AAAAAAAANkQ/bC-3khZ9SB8n5N1WFHalri4glDN9ZIHhQCEw/s640/IMG_0269.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br />And so we held her and snuggled her and talked to her and fed her for all the quiet, earliest hours of the morning. I didn't think much of sleep because how could I possibly sleep when I had such a beautiful, brand new face to look at? But eventually sleep did come for all three of us with the happiest of feelings in our hearts.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cuvyRJIq7gU/WSX3HAGVH5I/AAAAAAAANkk/wohHKdIVvZAPJBCz7bcpYvMoiKlS2eTZQCEw/s1600/20170409_122523.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cuvyRJIq7gU/WSX3HAGVH5I/AAAAAAAANkk/wohHKdIVvZAPJBCz7bcpYvMoiKlS2eTZQCEw/s640/20170409_122523.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br />I even forgot how uncomfortable the bed was for a while.Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150657897645335754noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19344949.post-15592789118180694012017-04-15T09:27:00.003-07:002017-04-15T09:27:57.093-07:00Unique Love<div style="text-align: right;">*<i>This post was written on April 8th at around 6pm...&nbsp;</i></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i>just three hours before my water broke. &nbsp;</i></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i>It's taken a few days to finish it and get the pictures up.</i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3foLueTS-as/WO67QC5OsXI/AAAAAAAANRo/gQP1CVdhiI0dFl7Wf-iK090bJh05U9s5QCLcB/s1600/IMG_0175.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3foLueTS-as/WO67QC5OsXI/AAAAAAAANRo/gQP1CVdhiI0dFl7Wf-iK090bJh05U9s5QCLcB/s640/IMG_0175.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><br /></div>Well, we made it to spring break. &nbsp;Brian is home for a whole week, and the children are underfoot asking every few hours whether or not I've had any contractions.<br /><br />It seems a little surreal to me that this blog, this happy space that represents the corner of my mind where words capture memories and help me explore my innermost thoughts, doesn't even know that in just a few short days (hours?) our family will get to meet and hold and snuggle the brand new baby girl we've all be so passionately excited about.<br /><br />But recorded here or not, it's happening. &nbsp;And, recorded here or not, we are simply thrilled.<br /><br /><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aJr1AmFQZUo/WO67Oxx_IcI/AAAAAAAANRc/H_rVf8KuCpgSXFdiGWx0GjjDeLzXwMPbQCLcB/s1600/IMG_0127.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aJr1AmFQZUo/WO67Oxx_IcI/AAAAAAAANRc/H_rVf8KuCpgSXFdiGWx0GjjDeLzXwMPbQCLcB/s640/IMG_0127.jpg" width="640" /></a><br /><br />There has been something so beautiful about this pregnancy, something different than in the past, and I've spent a lot of time inspecting and pondering and digging to find the root of it. It's been hard to nail down and has taken me months and months to prune out all the tangential reasons and find that, I think, the difference all boils down to Love.<br /><br />It's kind of tricky to explain what I mean, though... because I obviously want it to be clear that each of my children are loved with <i>such</i> an intensity, and that there are no favorites or differences in the levels of love they pull from my heart. &nbsp;But it also is true that, aside from being loved for simply just existing, each child is loved for different reasons and that the love I feel for each one is very unique and tailored personally because of the differences in his or her own beautiful heart. &nbsp;I've often wished that in our language the word Love was split into dozens of words that each capture one of the slight variations of its meaning. &nbsp;Shouldn't there be different words, for example, to describe how I feel about peanut butter M&amp;M's, and how I feel about my husband? &nbsp;Yet 'love' is all we have, and if there is a better way to describe it I cannot find it.<br /><br />So, working within the deficiencies of language, I will say that the love throughout the last nine months for this little girl has been preciously priceless and beautifully unique, and that&nbsp;<i>that</i>&nbsp;has made the difference.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rxSLTTrsS3s/WO67O85AkgI/AAAAAAAANRY/M0Rs5RZgvEMNzl71oZt00_MAm6jOfh8FQCLcB/s1600/IMG_0133.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rxSLTTrsS3s/WO67O85AkgI/AAAAAAAANRY/M0Rs5RZgvEMNzl71oZt00_MAm6jOfh8FQCLcB/s640/IMG_0133.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br />One way in which this love has been unique is in the sweet Love Sparkles that come from the eyes of my kids as they talk about and ask about and dream about who their little sister will be. They are all invested so deeply in this future. I think this investment is largely fueled by McKenzie's and Carson's maturity and it has been so delightful to have older kids through this whole thing. Their minds understand well what it all means and their hearts took no time at all to grow and adapt to the new love that filled them. Their excitement is absolutely contagious both for their two younger siblings and for their parents, and I believe it's out of that excitement that those sweet Love Sparkles appear. &nbsp;I see them when we study the ultrasound pictures together, and when we fold the new tiny clothes straight from the dryer, and hold the warm, soft blankets to our cheeks. &nbsp;I see the Love Sparkles in their eyes when they feel the baby softly bump with her hiccups, when they feel her tiny kicks, and when they watch my belly as she rolls to a new position. &nbsp;And the Love Sparkles shine bright when we talk about the future - where she will sleep, what we will call her, who will teach her all the things...<br /><br />Another way the love has been unique is that so many friends and neighbors have shared in the excitement this time. Babies are in short supply around here as a large majority of the people in my daily circles finished adding to their families years ago, and because of that there has been an excitement that has followed me wherever I have gone. &nbsp;I feel so grateful for all the people around me who have been so generous in sharing their love for this baby with our family.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bRylIEbivYc/WPE4abYE1uI/AAAAAAAANSE/T79q4Tlf-QoDkxHooZXN7IIRB5TkMyxogCEw/s1600/Blog39.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bRylIEbivYc/WPE4abYE1uI/AAAAAAAANSE/T79q4Tlf-QoDkxHooZXN7IIRB5TkMyxogCEw/s640/Blog39.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Along the same lines as the ones above, but slightly different, is the simple idea that love added to love equals more love. I know, it sounds too simple, but for me it's not quite as intuitive as it seems. &nbsp;I remember feeling concerned when I was expecting my second child that I'd have to split my love between McKenzie and the new baby once he arrived (and I've found out since it's a pretty common feeling). But I found that the magic of love is that it's not finite. &nbsp;When that second baby came there was no split or divide of love like there was on time. My heart simply stretched and filled with <i>more</i>&nbsp;love than it originally had to begin with. And it happened again with the third, and the fourth, and the fifth... Now, of course, big families are not for everyone, but for me I am so grateful to have experienced so many love growth spurts in this way. &nbsp;And holding six children, including Jess, in my heart feels rich and beautiful.<br /><br />This idea of love growing is true in my own heart as described above, and it also can be expanded to include my whole home. It's been my experience that love feels bigger when there are more people sharing it (which may not be true universally, but for whatever reason feels true for me in this case). Having four children and two parents loving this little girl has exploded our home with love! &nbsp;The love seems to snowball from one person to the next to the next and back to the first again, getting bigger and stronger with each day until it has filled us to bursting.<br /><br />Maybe the biggest way this love has been unique, however, is in the ways my own perspective has changed and matured throughout the last years. &nbsp;I'm not quite sure how it happened exactly, but my first baby has somehow gone and grown right up into a teenager, and my other babies are all functioning and thriving with personalities all their own. They bike through our small town taking such great care of their increasing list of responsibilities and contribute to the family dynamic in beautiful, unique, and often surprising ways... this growing up is happening so quickly, and it has given me new light to see that this little one we are expecting any minute is so much more than a baby. &nbsp;She is a <i>person</i>, with her own individual spark who will add life and light and something special to our family. A newborn baby is something to love, yes yes yes, but the promise of a future for that baby? Of a child? Of a teen? Of an adult? How much greater is the love in that.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vS4i64VRnBA/WO67QXR6jHI/AAAAAAAANRk/fQpQiefQxnYCCHqDPb_3VdR6T0jhfyaCwCLcB/s1600/IMG_0197.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vS4i64VRnBA/WO67QXR6jHI/AAAAAAAANRk/fQpQiefQxnYCCHqDPb_3VdR6T0jhfyaCwCLcB/s640/IMG_0197.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br />Come soon, little one... we simply can't wait to meet you.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150657897645335754noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19344949.post-28212388259500017442016-07-14T20:09:00.002-07:002016-07-14T20:09:50.988-07:00Scrambled Thoughts XVII - End of School Style<b>1 - He's a heart-melter, this one.</b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M0uwLFtq0Qc/V3MpKtNsYwI/AAAAAAAAMPQ/sljqIRNfWhkIdvPugZXSkrZolD3CgkSFwCLcB/s1600/Blog31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M0uwLFtq0Qc/V3MpKtNsYwI/AAAAAAAAMPQ/sljqIRNfWhkIdvPugZXSkrZolD3CgkSFwCLcB/s640/Blog31.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />And he <i>knows</i>&nbsp;it. &nbsp;Just today this conversation went down,<br />"Hey Teek, guess what?"<br />"You love me."<br />"How did you know I was going to say that?!"<br />"Because you say dat all duh time. &nbsp;<i>And</i>&nbsp;you say I'm duh k-YOU-tist."<br />"Well, you <i>are</i>&nbsp;the cutest!"<br />"Yeah. &nbsp;I know dat cause you say dat all duh time."<br /><br />Ego. fed.<br /><br /><b>2 - Miles is a competitor. &nbsp;Also, his hair is amazing.</b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LUTlDh9Rt1I/V3MpKNHDyrI/AAAAAAAAMPM/9lfJzI-q0CU0HbnwKvzjIGakgwyd7Ql6ACLcB/s1600/j220%2BMiles%2527s%2Bfield%2Bday-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LUTlDh9Rt1I/V3MpKNHDyrI/AAAAAAAAMPM/9lfJzI-q0CU0HbnwKvzjIGakgwyd7Ql6ACLcB/s640/j220%2BMiles%2527s%2Bfield%2Bday-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Sometimes my mind flashes back to one experience when Miles was in the transition phase between baby and toddler. My parents know the day because they were there, too, watching with amazement as little Miles, completely wrapped up in his own thoughts and determination, worked to master stepping up and down an inch-deep step where the porch turned to gravel. &nbsp;He fell and fell and fell, and turned around to hit it again, again, again. &nbsp;I remember my dad leaning slightly over to my mom and pointing his finger to pull her attention to the sheer grit that was coming from Miles. &nbsp;We watched him work in that one spot with an attention span much longer than was appropriate for his age, and we knew that we were seeing one of his core personality traits. <br /><br />Miles is amazing. &nbsp;His mind is quick, his coordination is good, and we've stopped giving him any sort of handicap advantage when playing games with his older siblings. &nbsp;Card games, basketball games, board games, soccer games... he has an innate ability to grasp the rules, strategize, and compete. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Yvsin89Bzgg/V3MpKEXw9UI/AAAAAAAAMPI/f-oMbuolHcEdSe21foYd2V59-2-6BgpPACLcB/s1600/j220%2BMiles%2527s%2Bfield%2Bday-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Yvsin89Bzgg/V3MpKEXw9UI/AAAAAAAAMPI/f-oMbuolHcEdSe21foYd2V59-2-6BgpPACLcB/s640/j220%2BMiles%2527s%2Bfield%2Bday-6.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />This is his game face. &nbsp;Notice the kids in the background? &nbsp;How relaxed and non-competitive they look? &nbsp;It was a purely non-competitive field day... no points, no races, just fun. &nbsp;But Miles was there to compete anyway. &nbsp;It was fascinating to see him switch his game face on and off, on and off, on and off, when he was about to run, and when he was laughing and playing with his friends.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HXv4TGPr4Qg/V3MpKz7FZYI/AAAAAAAAMPY/jEcaRSBZ-70s4d1MbUaXgl1eFlRa8ckNgCLcB/s1600/j220%2BMiles%2527s%2Bfield%2Bday-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HXv4TGPr4Qg/V3MpKz7FZYI/AAAAAAAAMPY/jEcaRSBZ-70s4d1MbUaXgl1eFlRa8ckNgCLcB/s640/j220%2BMiles%2527s%2Bfield%2Bday-8.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><br /><b>3 - Carson goes through shoes like band-aids.</b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wwJ7l3_GXrs/V3nHdV_9zzI/AAAAAAAAMT4/hajRdiwTlnAd8j1SoMQQaO1_c8qM8jLKACLcB/s1600/20160526_135623-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wwJ7l3_GXrs/V3nHdV_9zzI/AAAAAAAAMT4/hajRdiwTlnAd8j1SoMQQaO1_c8qM8jLKACLcB/s640/20160526_135623-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Which is a small problem when you're trying to do the water limbo in a ditch. &nbsp;During the school year, he wore through four pairs of tennis shoes (and we even bought expensive ones once to see if that helped... it didn't). &nbsp;And so far this summer he's gone through three pairs of flip flops. &nbsp;That's an average of 10 summer days a pair, people. <br /><br />So, if you see him walking around with the soles literally falling off the bottoms of his feet, don't worry. &nbsp;He is loved and fed and well cared for and will have new shoes eventually. &nbsp;In the meantime, good thing it doesn't rain much here. <br /><br />And if you see me coming out of the store with a cart filled with 48 pairs of flip flops all the same size, you'll know why.<br /><br /><b>4 - What would I say to someone who says they've met the Energizer Bunny?</b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CMQmLpHEo-g/V3nHdQhmZuI/AAAAAAAAMT8/Onx80G1snpIh4_0Gt_nmUXG1L8hxNr4DwCLcB/s1600/20160526_134031-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CMQmLpHEo-g/V3nHdQhmZuI/AAAAAAAAMT8/Onx80G1snpIh4_0Gt_nmUXG1L8hxNr4DwCLcB/s640/20160526_134031-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Me too! &nbsp;Seriously. &nbsp;Carson's teacher has more energy than the kids in her classroom every. single. day. &nbsp;She jumps and runs and plays their games. &nbsp;She dances and cheers and pumps her fists in the air... you could make a movie about her, she's <i>that</i>&nbsp;unique and wonderful.&nbsp;She wasted no time during field day and jumped right into the games while all the parents and other teachers stood around and smiled.<br /><br /><b>5 - Carson has good friends and a good heart</b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bsS3A94mgC4/V3nHdq-2CKI/AAAAAAAAMUA/fXsKtBl6gqcltw3eTYa38n5VDVjj_u80QCLcB/s1600/20160526_140404-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bsS3A94mgC4/V3nHdq-2CKI/AAAAAAAAMUA/fXsKtBl6gqcltw3eTYa38n5VDVjj_u80QCLcB/s640/20160526_140404-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Carson became responsible this year. Weird to say, maybe, because how do you really pinpoint the moment that you <i>become</i>&nbsp;something like responsible? &nbsp;But he did. &nbsp;He started taking responsibility for his school work, he started wearing matching clothes to school, he started remembering to brush his teeth every night, he started doing his morning chores without seventy six reminders... It's fantastic. &nbsp;He's fantastic.<br /><br />Plus, his caring heart spent a week in agony trying to decide which of the people in his class he should invite to the pizza party he earned. &nbsp;The kids were rewarded for things like good behavior with Honey Bucks, and one of the thing they could buy with their accumulated Bucks was a pizza party with two friends during lunch time. &nbsp;Several of the kids had earned this prize throughout the year, and Carson was one of them. &nbsp;He had been invited to others pizza parties in the past, and had already bought one for himself several months before, and now that he had enough money to buy another one he was charged with the responsibility of picking two friends to eat with him. &nbsp;It was near the end of the school year, and he told me one night that there were several kids in his class that had never been invited to a pizza party, or who never earned enough money to buy one for themselves, and he wanted to invite <i>all</i>&nbsp;of them (five-ish, I believe). &nbsp;So I sent a text to his teacher, and she made it happen. &nbsp;He has such a beautiful heart.<br /><br /><b>6 - Middle school band concerts can actually be amazing</b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7rsWqiF8_w0/V3MpLLwO0DI/AAAAAAAAMPk/RONxcjF1tuQqStgMRwtCs7AHI8bUedGoACLcB/s1600/j226%2BMcKenzie%2527s%2BBand%2BConcert-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7rsWqiF8_w0/V3MpLLwO0DI/AAAAAAAAMPk/RONxcjF1tuQqStgMRwtCs7AHI8bUedGoACLcB/s640/j226%2BMcKenzie%2527s%2BBand%2BConcert-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Maybe it's because my expectations were so low at the beginning of the year, but I was blown away by the sound that came from our middle school band. &nbsp;They were awesome! &nbsp;And if it hadn't been for the fact that we were sitting on hard, backless bleachers, I could have sat and listened to them for quite a bit longer than they actually played.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q53iJVKHcBY/V3MpLXn46bI/AAAAAAAAMPg/qaGBTwxQAjw3-PxI_knN-1_JJa30zF0OQCLcB/s1600/j226%2BMcKenzie%2527s%2BBand%2BConcert-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q53iJVKHcBY/V3MpLXn46bI/AAAAAAAAMPg/qaGBTwxQAjw3-PxI_knN-1_JJa30zF0OQCLcB/s640/j226%2BMcKenzie%2527s%2BBand%2BConcert-6.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br />Kenz worked hard at mastering her instruments this year. &nbsp;She wanted to play the oboe, so her band instructor started her with a clarinet for the first half of the year (because, apparently, they are quite similar to the oboe and much easier to play), and then switched her when she was ready. &nbsp;McKenzie brought the oboe home and practiced frequently, and I was so proud of her hard work. <br /><br />It feels good to accomplish something.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NwhG_O_5Gh4/V3MpLumVmTI/AAAAAAAAMPo/7oIWY-0DPqou8bFvG1KPTl0Zcy8eyzOzACLcB/s1600/j226%2BMcKenzie%2527s%2BBand%2BConcert-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NwhG_O_5Gh4/V3MpLumVmTI/AAAAAAAAMPo/7oIWY-0DPqou8bFvG1KPTl0Zcy8eyzOzACLcB/s640/j226%2BMcKenzie%2527s%2BBand%2BConcert-7.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><b>7 - TK looks cute in pigtails</b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-K5rNqXJconk/V3nHdbxfkiI/AAAAAAAAMT0/r0L7HTvbKSsD68RP3g-1E3y44jXAVjjMgCLcB/s1600/20160525_102506%25280%2529-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-K5rNqXJconk/V3nHdbxfkiI/AAAAAAAAMT0/r0L7HTvbKSsD68RP3g-1E3y44jXAVjjMgCLcB/s640/20160525_102506%25280%2529-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Also, how awesome is it that the K-2nd grade school has little paintings like this up all over their hallways? This school is amazing, and I just loved being there every week. &nbsp;They encourage the children to be good students, of course, but way more than that, they encourage the children to be good people. &nbsp;I felt like everyone was on the same page over there... the office staff, the teaching staff, the principle - I just loved being there every week, and I was happy to have Miles there every single day.<br /><br /><b>8 - It's a delicate balance trying to find music for the car that pleases both TK and me.</b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Jfs9_pNANC8/V3MpL0b1RvI/AAAAAAAAMPs/oJhoNvNPRQcp9RgSE8VrG4F0zbO5hI3KwCLcB/s1600/j228%2BSound%2BBeginnings%2BConcert-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Jfs9_pNANC8/V3MpL0b1RvI/AAAAAAAAMPs/oJhoNvNPRQcp9RgSE8VrG4F0zbO5hI3KwCLcB/s640/j228%2BSound%2BBeginnings%2BConcert-1.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>TK's music class CD was not one. &nbsp;I put him in a little music class this year and, let me tell you, it was the highlight of his life. &nbsp;Every single morning he would wake up and ask, "Is it my moozik cass today?!" &nbsp;And every single morning except for Mondays I would have to say, "Not today, bud. &nbsp;Your music class is on Monday." He loved it, of course, and I loved most of it, too. &nbsp;The teacher was spunky, the songs were fun, but the CD of all the songs made me want to rip my ears off. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Lp02rYN28gw/V3MpMH8p_qI/AAAAAAAAMP0/aIaVH8_aLTww-nR1sUT7pbXyOxeaPd7gwCLcB/s1600/j228%2BSound%2BBeginnings%2BConcert-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Lp02rYN28gw/V3MpMH8p_qI/AAAAAAAAMP0/aIaVH8_aLTww-nR1sUT7pbXyOxeaPd7gwCLcB/s640/j228%2BSound%2BBeginnings%2BConcert-5.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br />Seeing him up on that (tiny) stage was so fun - he loved it and felt so proud to be there.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IUG43azzITA/V3MpMVW-oUI/AAAAAAAAMP8/1mnFyBvcg4Mj9fWjlNZWueuF0QHmiIE8wCLcB/s1600/j228%2BSound%2BBeginnings%2BConcert-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IUG43azzITA/V3MpMVW-oUI/AAAAAAAAMP8/1mnFyBvcg4Mj9fWjlNZWueuF0QHmiIE8wCLcB/s640/j228%2BSound%2BBeginnings%2BConcert-6.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><b>9 - This girl is stealing my heart lately</b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GzEXXJXM2Hk/V3nJ04xgJ8I/AAAAAAAAMUQ/fVxdO-uny3kIyivu3qyt3CfeoYsyx4yLwCLcB/s1600/IMG_4437.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GzEXXJXM2Hk/V3nJ04xgJ8I/AAAAAAAAMUQ/fVxdO-uny3kIyivu3qyt3CfeoYsyx4yLwCLcB/s640/IMG_4437.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />She is turning into such an incredible young woman.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gaBWdMJKo9o/V3nJ07b6LzI/AAAAAAAAMUU/XtnRuuNaK1IfTECWWRXV1mDBIE3ABtYUQCLcB/s1600/IMG_4447.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gaBWdMJKo9o/V3nJ07b6LzI/AAAAAAAAMUU/XtnRuuNaK1IfTECWWRXV1mDBIE3ABtYUQCLcB/s640/IMG_4447.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Of course, I suppose that she's been turning into an incredible young woman from the day she was born, and perhaps it would be more accurate to say that she's continuing to turn into an incredible adult.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uhvzCgXi_Zo/V3nJ06r7ubI/AAAAAAAAMUM/X8rJtjD-ZAAiiWHUiEEPYsUBKzyRpMGBgCLcB/s1600/IMG_4451.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uhvzCgXi_Zo/V3nJ06r7ubI/AAAAAAAAMUM/X8rJtjD-ZAAiiWHUiEEPYsUBKzyRpMGBgCLcB/s640/IMG_4451.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />She has landed in a great group of girls. &nbsp;Drama <i>and</i>&nbsp;fun. &nbsp;Kenz doesn't do the drama very much. &nbsp;She mostly stays out of it, but the challenge has been to help her feel sympathetic towards those that <i>do </i>feel the drama. &nbsp;I get it, because I was quite anti-drama when I was her age, too. I ended up settling with one best girl friend, and tons of boys because, less drama.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2cm4ts3py8c/V3nJ1FFDkrI/AAAAAAAAMUY/iM34QQMrz6YQzo-pc_ZlK4vB1HiRAo-2wCLcB/s1600/IMG_4453.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2cm4ts3py8c/V3nJ1FFDkrI/AAAAAAAAMUY/iM34QQMrz6YQzo-pc_ZlK4vB1HiRAo-2wCLcB/s640/IMG_4453.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />But, drama or not, she sure has fun with her wonderful friends.Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150657897645335754noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19344949.post-15751599690187349622016-06-30T19:47:00.000-07:002016-06-30T20:16:15.740-07:00Remembering Jess<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tw_V4lQ-dRs/V2Bv-k8WgsI/AAAAAAAAMJA/nclAHpUvMTkQgjNPQErlRmwhISF6KDUkQCLcB/s1600/20160611_153814-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tw_V4lQ-dRs/V2Bv-k8WgsI/AAAAAAAAMJA/nclAHpUvMTkQgjNPQErlRmwhISF6KDUkQCLcB/s640/20160611_153814-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />I put the flowers in the center of the table and stood back to admire the way the sun was shining through their colors. &nbsp;My headphones were in my ears and connected to the phone in my pocket, but all was silent. The podcast had been paused in response to the text I had received a few minutes earlier from my friend, Brandy. <br /><br />"Hey" it said, "I put a surprise for u by your front door."<br /><br />I had been cleaning all morning while the kids and Brian were playing at the water park - a Move Fast And Scrub Hard cleaning that felt both refreshing and rejuvenating - but I had put the scrubber down to open the front door, and there the flowers had greeted me.<br /><br />And now here they were, casting their beauty as a finishing touch to my freshly scrubbed kitchen. And it was quiet. &nbsp;So quiet. &nbsp;Even unnaturally quiet because of the silent headphones that plugged out the sounds of a living world. &nbsp;Quiet enough for me to hear my own thoughts and feel my own heart as I stood and admired. &nbsp;I re-read the handwritten note tied to the vase and when I reached the last phrase, something inside of me broke.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I thought you might need some cheer today.</i></div><br />Standing there alone in my kitchen the tears started to flow, and I wondered how she knew. &nbsp;How <i>did</i> she know that I would need a little extra cheer this day? &nbsp;This day of all days on the anniversary of Jess's birth. My heart stirred with gratitude for the gesture of a friend who cared. This one perfectly timed vase of flowers made me feel loved, and after all these moves and all the little friendships that were promising but simply never had enough time to grow, it meant something beautiful to my heart. I did<i>&nbsp;</i>need some cheer.<br /><br />And I felt grateful that someone knew.<br /><br />Eventually the house was clean and Brian and the kids came home from their day at the water park, so we piled into the van and made our way to the grounds of the temple. &nbsp;An annual tradition that has become a happy part of my life.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3dQl451uJiI/V2Bv_LlaFQI/AAAAAAAAMJM/NcJj08Jff7MizOOxlUtq0F9D__xlVy6XACKgB/s1600/20160611_194116-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3dQl451uJiI/V2Bv_LlaFQI/AAAAAAAAMJM/NcJj08Jff7MizOOxlUtq0F9D__xlVy6XACKgB/s640/20160611_194116-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />"Do you know why we come to the temple on Jess's birthday?" I asked my children.<br />"To celebrate that he is sealed to us forever," Carson and McKenzie understood. &nbsp;Miles was confused, however, and it provided a beautiful chance to talk to him and explain exactly what that means.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-34Q7QQgWTH4/V2Bv-zUVFqI/AAAAAAAAMJI/v85fvrN5-38lNohi4mkbULpb9YRTDwvVACKgB/s1600/20160611_193814-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-34Q7QQgWTH4/V2Bv-zUVFqI/AAAAAAAAMJI/v85fvrN5-38lNohi4mkbULpb9YRTDwvVACKgB/s640/20160611_193814-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Teek was uninterested in having any sort of a quiet, spiritual conversation, so he made things a little difficult, but he was so darn cute that we forgave him pretty darn quick.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QFETKFzBRvI/V2BwAIdAcdI/AAAAAAAAMJk/gy0BAERvTU8KpmLqy8D0MwAMihIwdvdqwCKgB/s1600/Blog22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QFETKFzBRvI/V2BwAIdAcdI/AAAAAAAAMJk/gy0BAERvTU8KpmLqy8D0MwAMihIwdvdqwCKgB/s640/Blog22.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Halfway through our Taco Bell picnic on the temple lawn, a security officer hiked down the rocks behind us to inform us that, while we were welcome to sit on the lawn and enjoy the spirit of the temple grounds, we were actually <i>not</i> allowed to picnic. He was sorry, he said, about that. &nbsp;And so sorry, he said, to interrupt our family time. So we packed up the food and set it by a tree next to us.<br /><br />Fifteen minutes later, the same security guard hiked back down the same hill and, after asking if he could take a family picture for us, told us the exact same thing: we were not allowed to picnic on the lawns. &nbsp;We explained that we had packed up our food and were not eating anymore, but we could tell that something about us being there with a bag of food and a picnic blanket made him uncomfortable. &nbsp;So we thanked him for the picture and then packed ourselves up to walk around and enjoy the beauty of the temple from other vantage points.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ALpnEAVwfg0/V2Bv-kXXDsI/AAAAAAAAMJE/vTnigPiIWogBYZH6C45Tj15YnA9U3q0KwCKgB/s1600/20160611_193452-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ALpnEAVwfg0/V2Bv-kXXDsI/AAAAAAAAMJE/vTnigPiIWogBYZH6C45Tj15YnA9U3q0KwCKgB/s640/20160611_193452-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Notice McKenzie's smile above? &nbsp;She's rather excited about it. After these pictures, she exclaimed, "Hey mom! I learned a new way to smile that is <i>so</i>&nbsp;easy I don't even have to think about it! &nbsp;All I have to do is curl my top lip underneath itself... like this... and prop it up on my braces. &nbsp;So easy!" &nbsp;I looked back through the pictures on my phone and gently remarked that, while it certainly did look easy, it wasn't a very becoming look and maybe she could muster the strength every once in a while to smile normally?<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rRmYIwcLHQs/V2Bv_GmhEcI/AAAAAAAAMJQ/4O8uJOHplNk-bxARxZLMnhhB8kflBQosACKgB/s1600/20160611_195215-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rRmYIwcLHQs/V2Bv_GmhEcI/AAAAAAAAMJQ/4O8uJOHplNk-bxARxZLMnhhB8kflBQosACKgB/s640/20160611_195215-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1TKHvZF1yxo/V2Bv_D9dWbI/AAAAAAAAMJc/hXfMU5KnyU4FM0z9rWS6O6OIR1Gjm--DACKgB/s1600/20160611_200615-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1TKHvZF1yxo/V2Bv_D9dWbI/AAAAAAAAMJc/hXfMU5KnyU4FM0z9rWS6O6OIR1Gjm--DACKgB/s640/20160611_200615-2.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BLg0Mi5l34E/V2Bv_QGQkeI/AAAAAAAAMJU/Ny9tm0C-fvkPrGQmzqXWH5ps7GKyXpo7wCKgB/s1600/20160611_201144-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BLg0Mi5l34E/V2Bv_QGQkeI/AAAAAAAAMJU/Ny9tm0C-fvkPrGQmzqXWH5ps7GKyXpo7wCKgB/s640/20160611_201144-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GZy4EQ6RY94/V2BwAerhpKI/AAAAAAAAMJo/1rqvjmRI420BoB-_HkxCUTzNjTmebgMMgCKgB/s1600/Blog23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GZy4EQ6RY94/V2BwAerhpKI/AAAAAAAAMJo/1rqvjmRI420BoB-_HkxCUTzNjTmebgMMgCKgB/s640/Blog23.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />This next picture is one of my new favorites. &nbsp;They are getting so big, and I can't even believe how much I love them. &nbsp;They are wise beyond their years and we have Jess to thank for much of that. &nbsp;They have learned from a young age what it feels like to have a tie into the heavens - and how lucky they are for that.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-z4Yg6tNXMzo/V2Bv_rxupRI/AAAAAAAAMJY/gSUGY_a4PXQus92C2vTZVZwfASZ98t5BQCKgB/s1600/20160611_201204-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-z4Yg6tNXMzo/V2Bv_rxupRI/AAAAAAAAMJY/gSUGY_a4PXQus92C2vTZVZwfASZ98t5BQCKgB/s640/20160611_201204-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />I do wonder, occasionally, about how our family would be different if Jess had survived, but I have no doubts that <i>this</i> is the way God intended for him to <i>be</i>&nbsp;in our family. And just like the flowers from Brandy brightened my kitchen with love and color, Jess colors our family with a bright and beautiful love. He is a final touch in my life that brings loose ends together, that whispers to me that I am not alone, that reminds me that I am loved. &nbsp;And though sometimes I ache to hold him and to know him the way I know my other kids, I see and know that the way I love him now is so extraordinarily beautiful just the way it is.<br /><br />And someday when I am able to hold him and know him the way I know my other kids, I'm sure I'll not be surprised to find that <i>he</i> is extraordinarily beautiful. &nbsp;So beautiful that he changed my life - in many beautiful ways - without even taking a breath.<br /><br />Just by simply existing.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XSDDxp4HrpI/V2Bv_5Cvc7I/AAAAAAAAMJg/3xLFTIL4wJYs8b4IOGn_NnOORQRtPQXuQCKgB/s1600/20160611_202134-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XSDDxp4HrpI/V2Bv_5Cvc7I/AAAAAAAAMJg/3xLFTIL4wJYs8b4IOGn_NnOORQRtPQXuQCKgB/s640/20160611_202134-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150657897645335754noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19344949.post-65514757807380695592016-05-31T16:13:00.000-07:002016-05-31T16:13:25.346-07:00The Man<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kHe97z-LsB0/VyAjdSuJ0RI/AAAAAAAAL9k/XovUUHBNlsU4_NawAV-06GQKsrexG1l-gCLcB/s1600/j200%2BMama%2527s%2BBirthday%2BDate-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kHe97z-LsB0/VyAjdSuJ0RI/AAAAAAAAL9k/XovUUHBNlsU4_NawAV-06GQKsrexG1l-gCLcB/s640/j200%2BMama%2527s%2BBirthday%2BDate-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Me, my handsome man, and my giant bug glasses heading into Lowe's for a bit of a birthday shopping spree. &nbsp;Which, really, was not a spree at all since we didn't actually buy anything (except a refill of floor cleaner) but felt&nbsp;like a spree because we were <i>looking</i> at carpet and <i>glancing</i> at kitchen cupboards and <i>thinking</i> about paint colors and shelving and molding and fireplace tile and power tools and patio furniture and all the other things a magical place like Lowe's makes one think about.<br /><br />Once upon a month or two ago it was my birthday, and also March Madness.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-skDaels1svQ/VyAjdC54VnI/AAAAAAAAL9g/gy6LC7p4DvggU7UXxV_6Bzb75gK3YpfZgCLcB/s1600/j200%2BMama%2527s%2BBirthday%2BDate-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-skDaels1svQ/VyAjdC54VnI/AAAAAAAAL9g/gy6LC7p4DvggU7UXxV_6Bzb75gK3YpfZgCLcB/s640/j200%2BMama%2527s%2BBirthday%2BDate-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />So we got all dressed up (Alder style of course) and headed out for a night out on the town. &nbsp;Brian and his phone took me to the Bellagio Gallery of Fine Art, which I had been eyeing for a year and a half.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xyln24PpfNs/VyAjdf5BzLI/AAAAAAAAL9s/rwf8habeAYIWQjzet_djCtt0rtphWoBxwCLcB/s1600/j200%2BMama%2527s%2BBirthday%2BDate-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xyln24PpfNs/VyAjdf5BzLI/AAAAAAAAL9s/rwf8habeAYIWQjzet_djCtt0rtphWoBxwCLcB/s640/j200%2BMama%2527s%2BBirthday%2BDate-3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />It did not disappoint. &nbsp;Currently, it's featuring an artist by the name of Yousuf Karsh who, if you're like me and not super familiar with things of this nature, is an incredibly accomplished and famous portrait photographer. &nbsp;He has taken hundreds of portraits of the most famous men and women in the last century. &nbsp;I wasn't sure how I was going to like the exhibit, to be honest, but it was absolutely incredible. &nbsp;I don't know how he did it, but his pictures show <i>life</i>&nbsp;and <i>passion.</i>&nbsp; 60 of them are hanging in the Bellagio right this minute. &nbsp;Pictures of people including Martin Luther King, Jr., Muhammad Ali, Albert Einstein, Audrey Hepburn, Fidel Castro, Helen Keller... it was inspiring.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3HLNZo91Jhg/VyAjd81ZjwI/AAAAAAAAL9o/m6jY6KIoW2gqZE4fNKjDOxZDz6vTlCJZwCLcB/s1600/j200%2BMama%2527s%2BBirthday%2BDate-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3HLNZo91Jhg/VyAjd81ZjwI/AAAAAAAAL9o/m6jY6KIoW2gqZE4fNKjDOxZDz6vTlCJZwCLcB/s640/j200%2BMama%2527s%2BBirthday%2BDate-4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Then we hung around downtown and ate the "Best Burger in Vegas" which was, I'll admit, a pretty dang good burger. &nbsp;The best though? &nbsp;Arguable. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jdi9TiZ2RMI/VyAjebUT7BI/AAAAAAAAL9w/gJzBSXVKT3QjroAHPxKw2z3FxsLkhU8TACLcB/s1600/j200%2BMama%2527s%2BBirthday%2BDate-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jdi9TiZ2RMI/VyAjebUT7BI/AAAAAAAAL9w/gJzBSXVKT3QjroAHPxKw2z3FxsLkhU8TACLcB/s640/j200%2BMama%2527s%2BBirthday%2BDate-5.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />I got lucky, you know. &nbsp;Of course, at 20 years old I <i>thought </i>I was making a good choice. &nbsp;I loved him and the future looked bright. &nbsp;But how could I have known just how well this man would stay by my side and help actively lead our family to Today? &nbsp;I love you, Bri. &nbsp;You are a great man. &nbsp;A great father, an incredible husband, a hard worker, a forgiving partner, and handsome all the way from the inside out. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150657897645335754noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19344949.post-50448690396312038292016-05-25T13:17:00.001-07:002017-03-23T19:16:08.194-07:00Because: Friendship<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SfwfGs_PVN8/VxvsTA2jfTI/AAAAAAAAL3M/Z0QkjMWtwo0KwUngy6wNHtaQcS28l6IGQCLcB/s1600/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SfwfGs_PVN8/VxvsTA2jfTI/AAAAAAAAL3M/Z0QkjMWtwo0KwUngy6wNHtaQcS28l6IGQCLcB/s640/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-15.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />A girl needs friends, you know.<br />Real friends.<br />The kind that laugh at your Totally Not Funny jokes,<br />And cry with your hurting heart.<br /><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uF4oZe52FtU/VxvsToZOkNI/AAAAAAAAL3o/WAGFVNJ1QygkW3Jj54RpJRLL6zxlOn9CACLcB/s1600/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uF4oZe52FtU/VxvsToZOkNI/AAAAAAAAL3o/WAGFVNJ1QygkW3Jj54RpJRLL6zxlOn9CACLcB/s640/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The kind that can stand with you in comfortable silence as you watch the sea lions on the pier.</div><div>Or lie awake with you in the dark of the night to tell you her stories and listen to yours, engaging easily in conversation that finds minutes ticking into hours and more hours until the clock shows a time on its face that you haven't seen in a while. &nbsp;Those conversations can be life-changing, you know. <br />Especially if your friend is inspirational.<br />Or understanding.<br />Or both.<br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-icnI1LnV2wU/VxvsTJnVP0I/AAAAAAAAL3I/wVaJXoScb8c-ma1IM9IruxyIoKU1iQPMQCLcB/s1600/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-icnI1LnV2wU/VxvsTJnVP0I/AAAAAAAAL3I/wVaJXoScb8c-ma1IM9IruxyIoKU1iQPMQCLcB/s640/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-10.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><div><br />A girl needs a friend who will get out of the car into the freezing rain with you just to see the ocean.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RHhOOejjpB4/VxvsWfW9ImI/AAAAAAAAL4Q/Zhsje6ItQ3Es_UjmJxo2-cdaPdASOTPXACLcB/s1600/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RHhOOejjpB4/VxvsWfW9ImI/AAAAAAAAL4Q/Zhsje6ItQ3Es_UjmJxo2-cdaPdASOTPXACLcB/s640/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-8.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Or who patiently waits while you stop to capture the beauty of that rain, because she understands deeply enough to know that your desert eyes crave this water.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FHsLWR_oovA/VxvsW9PxEsI/AAAAAAAAL4U/hWff8g3nvqQRZrnxioJO1uuNxd3h5n_qwCLcB/s1600/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FHsLWR_oovA/VxvsW9PxEsI/AAAAAAAAL4U/hWff8g3nvqQRZrnxioJO1uuNxd3h5n_qwCLcB/s640/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-9.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I miss these ladies with a deep part of my soul. &nbsp;These are the ladies I met in North Carolina, and many of us built our habits of mothering together. &nbsp;They were my examples during those crucial, early years when everything about motherhood and running my own family was new and nothing was set. &nbsp;These are the women who came with suggestions and advice. Strong women who love God and respect people and speak lovingly of their husbands and children even when they admit that times are tough.<br /><br />Between the countless informal gatherings throughout my nine years in North Carolina, we always met formally, once a month, in what we called Book Club. It <i>was</i>&nbsp;a book club, to be sure... but it was so much more. &nbsp;It was a night&nbsp;that was so fun and enlightening and therapeutic and deep and rich that we would look forward to it all month, and then stay well after midnight once we were there.<br /><br />We knew even then that it couldn't last forever... eventually, Time came along and started breaking us apart. &nbsp;Husbands finished their schooling and relocated all across the country, taking the pieces of our book club with them.<br /><br />We missed it. &nbsp;We missed each other and we missed the strength that came when we were together and we couldn't bear the thought of our book club disbanding even though we were scattering across the country. &nbsp;So, we started a new tradition. <br /><br />A biennial, destination book club. <br /><br />Santa Rosa, California was the destination this year. The date was chosen, flights were booked, and dear friends from all around the country began their journeys to a single home. &nbsp;The green, garden home of Martha.<br /><br />Five of us (me, along with Melissa, Amy, Cami, and Kim) met in San Francisco a day early and toured the city together. &nbsp;It was wet.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KL-EwFuUmvo/VxvsTtHMVwI/AAAAAAAAL3U/nw4aqozf61YZv1My90kz4hfA-QmnXzGSgCLcB/s1600/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KL-EwFuUmvo/VxvsTtHMVwI/AAAAAAAAL3U/nw4aqozf61YZv1My90kz4hfA-QmnXzGSgCLcB/s640/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-19.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>But we didn't mind. We held our umbrellas and rung our socks at the end of the day.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tDjoQVdHIrE/VxvsUM-I7SI/AAAAAAAAL3c/LE-XI5HdLAYTJnWaSIipMKo4KjEYZqBwACLcB/s1600/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tDjoQVdHIrE/VxvsUM-I7SI/AAAAAAAAL3c/LE-XI5HdLAYTJnWaSIipMKo4KjEYZqBwACLcB/s640/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-23.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><div><br />The five of us booked a small apartment on a steep hill and somehow managed to cram two queen sized blow up mattresses into the cozy living area. They took the entire floor so that there was no path to the bathroom, but pregnant Amy promised that she would try her best not to step on any heads in the middle of the night. We talked and talked and talked that night. The kind that changes you.<br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SOTmrCfa53s/VxvsTyijvSI/AAAAAAAAL3Y/-xlCG3ys1gUlG4qDB97j3wlrIuXYHQKvQCLcB/s1600/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SOTmrCfa53s/VxvsTyijvSI/AAAAAAAAL3Y/-xlCG3ys1gUlG4qDB97j3wlrIuXYHQKvQCLcB/s640/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-22.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><div><br />The following morning we awoke and got ready for our day while blasting Adele songs from Melissa's phone. It felt like college, but better. &nbsp;Better because we are better and stronger and wiser than we were then. <br /><br />It was wet still, but after our morning brunch we walked anyway. &nbsp;The Golden Gate Bridge still stands in the rain, you know. &nbsp;Eventually, the four women I was with were ready to travel north up to Santa Rosa, so I stayed behind by myself for an hour to wait for two different friends who were on their own way to Santa Rosa and would soon pass through San Francisco. &nbsp;I loved the time alone as I often do.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fds3ybwDcrw/VxvsTJBPeMI/AAAAAAAAL3Q/Negn4IlRHJohPyah3UT9cF7iDIf66gG5ACLcB/s1600/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fds3ybwDcrw/VxvsTJBPeMI/AAAAAAAAL3Q/Negn4IlRHJohPyah3UT9cF7iDIf66gG5ACLcB/s640/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-18.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>But was thrilled to jump (quickly) into the car when Katie and Cindy arrived (pulled over on the side of a busy road in an area that was obviously not meant for passenger pick up). &nbsp;We had much catching up to do ourselves, and wasted no time diving into a heart bearing conversation. &nbsp;The kind that changes you.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-i4PRYmH3_80/VxvsUTYaAGI/AAAAAAAAL3g/hhnBlF59snwIc7iIZPpMkfEhP0snyamNwCLcB/s1600/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-i4PRYmH3_80/VxvsUTYaAGI/AAAAAAAAL3g/hhnBlF59snwIc7iIZPpMkfEhP0snyamNwCLcB/s640/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-25.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We made it to Martha's and spent a delightful day on the rainy, wet beach.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hXp3gnSRPQI/VxvsUs4eGlI/AAAAAAAAL3k/3Tt8sIhDlh8Ae3sjVCecU1PsRcKNl1QbACLcB/s1600/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hXp3gnSRPQI/VxvsUs4eGlI/AAAAAAAAL3k/3Tt8sIhDlh8Ae3sjVCecU1PsRcKNl1QbACLcB/s640/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-27.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>But, as you know, any day on the beach is a great one for me. &nbsp;Even rainy ones.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vF6d_hzTfgg/VxvsU1SLX4I/AAAAAAAAL30/mQO97wTXtSoDN9Shjdnw2lvG7a8fdoq0gCLcB/s1600/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vF6d_hzTfgg/VxvsU1SLX4I/AAAAAAAAL30/mQO97wTXtSoDN9Shjdnw2lvG7a8fdoq0gCLcB/s640/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-28.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>And days on <i>rocky</i>&nbsp;beaches? &nbsp;Even better.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eaX4pYnMwT0/VxvsU4Gp-zI/AAAAAAAAL3s/iTxFhqLZGOM3BSNX7geFoXSZiML0_ve8wCLcB/s1600/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eaX4pYnMwT0/VxvsU4Gp-zI/AAAAAAAAL3s/iTxFhqLZGOM3BSNX7geFoXSZiML0_ve8wCLcB/s640/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-30.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>There was one scare when, just after I took the following picture, a wave came barreling in and completely covered the rock I was standing on. &nbsp;Rocky beaches are beautiful, but they can be a bit scary if you're worried about being carried away <i>into</i>&nbsp;those rocks. &nbsp;The picture ended up being worth soggy shoes, though.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vnGVzSnsyB0/VxvsVWI9Q8I/AAAAAAAAL3w/i0kUccR8T0cj1E03dP55KIv48cegRcoGwCLcB/s1600/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vnGVzSnsyB0/VxvsVWI9Q8I/AAAAAAAAL3w/i0kUccR8T0cj1E03dP55KIv48cegRcoGwCLcB/s640/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-32.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Part of me wished I had brought my big camera along, but the other part of me was so darn thrilled at the easiness of carrying my camera phone right in my pocket and not worrying about the lenses hitting the jagged rocks, or getting sprayed with ocean water. <br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-maLMriSzy6o/VxvsVmqUh1I/AAAAAAAAL34/SpfNgA_FL9E7fTYL-4nyQcMnHgmaq85bQCLcB/s1600/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-33.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-maLMriSzy6o/VxvsVmqUh1I/AAAAAAAAL34/SpfNgA_FL9E7fTYL-4nyQcMnHgmaq85bQCLcB/s640/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-33.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />Plus, I do love the wide angle my camera phone has.&nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6km5Kt6cXPo/VxvsVwa3L1I/AAAAAAAAL38/wK5TjWXWxYAByyVJsgMhEBLXXeyQ4wMowCLcB/s1600/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-35.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6km5Kt6cXPo/VxvsVwa3L1I/AAAAAAAAL38/wK5TjWXWxYAByyVJsgMhEBLXXeyQ4wMowCLcB/s640/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-35.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I don't have a wide-angle lens, and couldn't really get a shot like this one anyway with my big camera.<br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RpH3fs8DAtE/VxvsV7fgeWI/AAAAAAAAL4E/Xs3CliXy9NskUJOv9cK10ylbMFvXIcTOQCLcB/s1600/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-38.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RpH3fs8DAtE/VxvsV7fgeWI/AAAAAAAAL4E/Xs3CliXy9NskUJOv9cK10ylbMFvXIcTOQCLcB/s640/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-38.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I think my favorite scenic part of this vacation was watching the wind spray the water off the crests of the waves. &nbsp;Apparently that's called <i>spindrift</i>. &nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DqlVHtOCkgE/VxvsV73QYHI/AAAAAAAAL4A/hSaWYHqFMpMtDPOvf2lYcGoKIs3vp7-qACLcB/s1600/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-39.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DqlVHtOCkgE/VxvsV73QYHI/AAAAAAAAL4A/hSaWYHqFMpMtDPOvf2lYcGoKIs3vp7-qACLcB/s640/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-39.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />It was a vacation full of beauty. &nbsp;Beautiful people, beautiful conversations, beautiful scenery, beautiful love. &nbsp;We spent two nights at Martha's discussing the books we had chosen (<i>Okay, for Now </i>and <i>Boys in the Boat </i>and <i>The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up</i>) and all other things that came to our minds. &nbsp;And towards the end of the second evening, Melissa pipped up: "I'm not going to bed until someone cries." &nbsp;We laughed, but it shined a beautiful light into the friendships that we have with each other. &nbsp;We want to know the good, we want to know the fun and the excitement and the daily events of each others lives... but we also want to know the sad. &nbsp;The real. &nbsp;The messy. &nbsp;We want to know because we care. &nbsp;"Tell us the last thing you cried about," Melissa continued.<br /><br />The night did end with some tears. &nbsp;Some <i>real</i>. <br /><br />I didn't sleep much for those three days. There was too much to listen to. &nbsp;Too much to learn, too much to talk about. &nbsp;Consequently, I came home exhausted.&nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6_L34vJ2jmw/VxvsWBmOLOI/AAAAAAAAL4I/0T0O66RliqcDo5njGOST4NB7BAP0Sd84wCLcB/s1600/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6_L34vJ2jmw/VxvsWBmOLOI/AAAAAAAAL4I/0T0O66RliqcDo5njGOST4NB7BAP0Sd84wCLcB/s640/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-43.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />But so, so happy.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vq1GVerNsdM/VxvsWYIn3ZI/AAAAAAAAL4M/RQWgIypemn0vYSbAEfk_ka7UbiQ2GCBcQCLcB/s1600/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-44.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vq1GVerNsdM/VxvsWYIn3ZI/AAAAAAAAL4M/RQWgIypemn0vYSbAEfk_ka7UbiQ2GCBcQCLcB/s640/j194%2B-%2BDurham%2BDiaspora-44.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Until next time Durham Diaspora!<br /><br />Diaspora: (n) a group of people who live outside the area in which they had lived for a long time.</div>Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150657897645335754noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19344949.post-54682262973645519272016-05-12T21:59:00.000-07:002016-05-12T21:59:03.701-07:00Scrambled Thoughts XVI<b>*We have decided that duck poop is not something we'd like to make part of our backyard landscape.</b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-loj04h4PEzM/VxvuKf2stXI/AAAAAAAAL4k/5NV89lTZq74p5M8Bs71TPIYgrQYNG2VlgCLcB/s1600/j195%2B-%2BDuck%2BProblem-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-loj04h4PEzM/VxvuKf2stXI/AAAAAAAAL4k/5NV89lTZq74p5M8Bs71TPIYgrQYNG2VlgCLcB/s640/j195%2B-%2BDuck%2BProblem-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Call us picky, but we seem to be having a problem. &nbsp;Can you see it? &nbsp;Let me zoom in a little closer for you:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-s3_rllgY1go/VzI17pr-TqI/AAAAAAAAMFU/JHUUMxiveTQaPp6pHv8dwQZwBQStXTrnACLcB/s1600/j195%2B-%2BDuck%2BProblem-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-s3_rllgY1go/VzI17pr-TqI/AAAAAAAAMFU/JHUUMxiveTQaPp6pHv8dwQZwBQStXTrnACLcB/s640/j195%2B-%2BDuck%2BProblem-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />There. &nbsp;<i>Now </i>can you see it? &nbsp;Or, <i>them</i>, I should say? &nbsp;In the pool? &nbsp;We have been chasing these ducks out of our pool all spring long (which has been a while since spring here starts early) and they haven't really gotten the hint that they are most unwelcome here. I don't mean to be inhospitable, and generally I do love to entertain guests, but most of my other guests have a rather more advanced skill of keeping their poop out of our pool and surrounding pool decks (and I do mean <i>most. &nbsp;</i>But we won't get into <i>that</i>&nbsp;story). <br /><br />I have given the children the green light to do anything they'd like to scare them away once noticed (besides throw rocks - I'm not cruel) and I believe Carson's favorite method involves his Nerf gun. &nbsp;Our ears have become highly sensitive to the quacking of the ducks, and whenever we hear it we jump to action as if it were a war siren. &nbsp;Which, softly, I suppose it <i>is</i>. <br /><br /><b>*The cub scouts Blue and Gold Banquet this year did not go well. &nbsp;For me.</b><br /><b><br /></b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9ufk8icRW6w/VxvYDJap8cI/AAAAAAAAL2g/HPXxu0YOJwg2q5IH6t0WdKQSSfPyJX0JgCLcB/s1600/j189%2BBlue%2Band%2BGold%2BBanquet-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9ufk8icRW6w/VxvYDJap8cI/AAAAAAAAL2g/HPXxu0YOJwg2q5IH6t0WdKQSSfPyJX0JgCLcB/s640/j189%2BBlue%2Band%2BGold%2BBanquet-6.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Because I'm weird. &nbsp;And those of you who know me well might be able to guess what is coming simply from the picture above.<br /><br />It all started at a planning meeting a couple of weeks before the event:<br />Cubmaster Dave: Okay, this is what I'm going to do... I'm going to blow up a hundred blue and gold balloons, set one on each chair, and then right at the start of the meeting I'll tell everyone to take their balloon and sit on it - then I'll say, "I wanted to start off with a bang!"<br />Me in my head: ... ... ... ...&nbsp;<i>Liiiiiiiiinds, these people don't know you well enough yet for you to display your irrational fear of balloons. &nbsp;Force a smile here... hurry, it's getting awkward...</i><br />Me out loud: Ohhhhh! &nbsp;That is <i>such </i>a great idea! &nbsp;That's so funny! &nbsp;Oh, everyone will just <i>laugh</i>! Ha! Cool! So funny...<br />Me in my head: <i>Okay, you need to back off, you're sounding forced.</i><br />Me in my head: <i>I know! But... balloons! &nbsp;INTENTIONALLY popping!</i><br />Me in my head: <i>Just keep your cool.</i><br />Me in my head: <i>Popping against METAL chairs, no less!</i><br />Me in my head: <i>You can step out for a second when they pop.</i><br />Me in my head: <i>METAL!</i><br />Me in my head: <i>Don't worry about it yet.</i><br />Me in my head: <i>The AMPLIFICATION of a hundred balloons popping against METAL!</i><br />Me in my head: <i>Shhhhhh..... there now....</i><br />Me in my head: <i>I don't like this idea at all.</i><br />Me in my head: <i>I know...</i><br />Me in my head: <i>I'm so weird.</i><br />Me in my head: <i>I know.</i><br /><i><br /></i>I was right to panic, by the way. &nbsp;It was very awful. I did step outside during the 'opening bang' (and I do mean <i>outside)</i>&nbsp;but not every balloon, as you might imagine, was popped during that time... which left lingering, startling pops ringing through the gymnasium at any given second throughout the remainder of the night. &nbsp;Also, how inadequate is the word <i>pop</i>? &nbsp;I'm not sure what a good replacement word could be, but surely there is something a little more dramatic than <i>pop</i>. &nbsp;Anyway, I might have left right after Carson received his awards but for two reasons: I was a little bit in charge, and also had been asked to take pictures during the event. And in order to take pictures, you might imagine, I had to actually be there.<br /><br />By the time the evening was wrapping up, I had enough adrenaline running through my body that it felt like little needles had replaced my blood. &nbsp;This caused me to become quite jittery and I jumped at the slightest sound of a footstep or a baby's cough.<br /><br />Hanging on by a fraying thread, eventually I did just leave. &nbsp;I looked at Brian (who <i>knew,</i>&nbsp;bless his heart) and we communicated to each other without words through the chaos of the party that I was going to <i>go</i>. &nbsp;I rushed out to the car and barely shut the door before the tears started falling. &nbsp;TEARS, you guys! <br /><br />Stupid balloons.<br /><br />I'm cool now, though. &nbsp;Everything's just great.<br /><br /><b>*Wanna know why <i>else</i>&nbsp;everything is great? &nbsp;Because we have a house stocked with toilet paper.</b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m8gZtAtBlpc/VyAkzkfBrII/AAAAAAAAL-E/bLWLAyFTNJAvJuLmjlBA2yLdQ2YorhuOgCLcB/s1600/j202%2BLife-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m8gZtAtBlpc/VyAkzkfBrII/AAAAAAAAL-E/bLWLAyFTNJAvJuLmjlBA2yLdQ2YorhuOgCLcB/s640/j202%2BLife-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />If you don't think this is really great, then you probably don't run out of toilet paper much. &nbsp;Don't get me wrong... we try not to make a habit of it buuuuuuuut, it happens. &nbsp;And, no, I did not buy <i>all</i>&nbsp;of this toilet paper. &nbsp;Just one package. &nbsp;But one package is enough when you didn't have much to begin with.<br /><br /><b>*Whether shopping for toilet paper or milk, this little guy is fun to be with.</b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iiO1iV7mfV0/VxvXYMRIFbI/AAAAAAAAL2U/Tm8N2z-jfokSxBWsfFXl1rNOVX_Xc-xiwCLcB/s1600/j188%2BHarvest%2BBeauty-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iiO1iV7mfV0/VxvXYMRIFbI/AAAAAAAAL2U/Tm8N2z-jfokSxBWsfFXl1rNOVX_Xc-xiwCLcB/s640/j188%2BHarvest%2BBeauty-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Mostly. &nbsp;He's also very difficult to reroute and if I let him out of the cart to walk through the store he gets his heart set on Things We Don't Need and it's nearly impossible to talk him out of it. &nbsp;So he ends up in tears and I end up the bad guy who always says no. &nbsp;Seriously, why can't he ask for a bright shiny apple or a stalk of celery? &nbsp;I might say yes to that, ya know. &nbsp;But Go-Gurts (what he is enraptured by in the picture above) just aren't really my thing. &nbsp;Sure, they're kid-delicious and quite handy... but the sugar content looks a little like 'dessert' in my book, and the price just isn't something I'm comfortable with. &nbsp;I'm a total hypocrite though, because I do buy packages of fruit snacks and dish them out as if they were actual fruit. Soooooo....<br /><br />Anyway. &nbsp;On a quiet day like the one pictured above, I don't mind the meandering quite so much and I sure do love the sweetness he adds to the minutes of my days.<br /><br /><b>*Looking out my bedroom window is a favorite.</b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/--Tlaz7rYA7U/VxvXYN63G3I/AAAAAAAAL2Y/qpL9KOQc_q0grTTWlK6suVXHNM3n6_y-wCLcB/s1600/j188%2BHarvest%2BBeauty-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/--Tlaz7rYA7U/VxvXYN63G3I/AAAAAAAAL2Y/qpL9KOQc_q0grTTWlK6suVXHNM3n6_y-wCLcB/s640/j188%2BHarvest%2BBeauty-1.jpg" width="478" /></a></div><br /><br />For Teek <i>and</i>&nbsp;for me. &nbsp;There really is so much beauty outside that window... beautiful skyscapes, jagged mountains, and happy children at play every spare minute.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jd3fJsUYW8o/VxvdFYPQnvI/AAAAAAAAL24/rjmWgHtf_oAQR6fSPijAkRpGEZkXektmgCLcB/s1600/j192%2BMoving%2B-%2Bamazing%2Bblessings-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jd3fJsUYW8o/VxvdFYPQnvI/AAAAAAAAL24/rjmWgHtf_oAQR6fSPijAkRpGEZkXektmgCLcB/s640/j192%2BMoving%2B-%2Bamazing%2Bblessings-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />The neighborhood kids come over to play in the mornings about 15-30 minutes before they all leave for school. &nbsp;As I'm cleaning up breakfast or tidying my bedroom I can hear them... anywhere from two to eight children playing ball, riding scooters and bikes, playing make-believe. &nbsp;It's one of the very best parts of my whole day. &nbsp;I hate to break up the party, but the clock ticks on and eventually it's time for me to sound the Time to Go or You'll Be Late for School alarm. &nbsp;Then, in a flash, backpacks and helmets are collected from all around the yard, and I watch them speed down the driveway for school. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NFw8CBRPFjU/VyAt1j8eikI/AAAAAAAAL_Q/Ufctu78yOActzvmP5zGGU16XsrvxDz6yQCLcB/s1600/j209%2BMorning%2BFleet%2Bto%2Bthe%2BElementary%2BSchool-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NFw8CBRPFjU/VyAt1j8eikI/AAAAAAAAL_Q/Ufctu78yOActzvmP5zGGU16XsrvxDz6yQCLcB/s640/j209%2BMorning%2BFleet%2Bto%2Bthe%2BElementary%2BSchool-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />After school, my kids have about 30 minutes to do their homework before the doorbell starts ringing again. &nbsp;I don't even answer the door. &nbsp;Like, ever. &nbsp;Because it's always for one of the kids... and they know it and are happy to run through the house to invite whoever is on the doorstep to join in the fun.<br /><br /><b>*My kids are so happy. &nbsp;</b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-j91c6Yv3TBQ/VxvbT-SSKGI/AAAAAAAAL2s/zspdEouzbpkC3aLKI4NspYly8zsIJ0O1QCLcB/s1600/j190%2BFamily%2BSunset%2BWalk-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-j91c6Yv3TBQ/VxvbT-SSKGI/AAAAAAAAL2s/zspdEouzbpkC3aLKI4NspYly8zsIJ0O1QCLcB/s640/j190%2BFamily%2BSunset%2BWalk-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />They have a freedom here - and I see so much fertile ground for the experiences they are having to take root and become memories that they will treasure for a lifetime.Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150657897645335754noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19344949.post-25832939066028493412016-05-11T19:30:00.000-07:002016-05-11T19:30:12.697-07:00Walking through Spring<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K-E074j81E8/VyAtsCxkX5I/AAAAAAAAL-4/ivD3YhXp7mo0xS04-5v1RVpOquRZd5ZMACLcB/s1600/j207%2BFamily%2BWalk-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K-E074j81E8/VyAtsCxkX5I/AAAAAAAAL-4/ivD3YhXp7mo0xS04-5v1RVpOquRZd5ZMACLcB/s640/j207%2BFamily%2BWalk-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />The weather has been gorgeous lately. &nbsp;Springtime in the desert is long and beautiful. The temperatures hover in the 60's and 70's under clear, blue skies. &nbsp;Or, on a happy day, under dynamic skies painted with clouds in all shapes and sizes. &nbsp;My children know I love the clouds... why, just days ago Carson came running in from the backyard and said, "Hey mom!? &nbsp;Wanna come out and see a really beautiful cloud?" &nbsp;He knew my answer would be yes, and I plopped the raw chicken down and washed my hands just as fast as could be to go and take a look. &nbsp;I do love those days. <br /><br />But, cloudy or clear, springtime is just perfect for family walks.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NsAbrR_oY8I/VyAtsItc2KI/AAAAAAAAL-s/-59rWjXzFGgl26FuUOcErRm_YIAbCK2hgCLcB/s1600/j207%2BFamily%2BWalk-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NsAbrR_oY8I/VyAtsItc2KI/AAAAAAAAL-s/-59rWjXzFGgl26FuUOcErRm_YIAbCK2hgCLcB/s640/j207%2BFamily%2BWalk-2.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><br />And when I look hard enough, I can see that life is growing just fine.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FGQ9JdZQ4gk/VyAtsRclraI/AAAAAAAAL-w/FI3sihiJipAPbMf5f1JbeZ6L_H4Sy8bxQCLcB/s1600/j207%2BFamily%2BWalk-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FGQ9JdZQ4gk/VyAtsRclraI/AAAAAAAAL-w/FI3sihiJipAPbMf5f1JbeZ6L_H4Sy8bxQCLcB/s640/j207%2BFamily%2BWalk-3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />I do love the way the sunshine peeks through the branches and shines through the baby leaves on a newly sprung tree.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JwQEP6pYno8/VyAtskYp7kI/AAAAAAAAL-0/3CpDMPedN6YSqWEyKGlmMaphOnmfCkz7gCLcB/s1600/j207%2BFamily%2BWalk-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JwQEP6pYno8/VyAtskYp7kI/AAAAAAAAL-0/3CpDMPedN6YSqWEyKGlmMaphOnmfCkz7gCLcB/s640/j207%2BFamily%2BWalk-4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />One day as we were walking down the road, we saw a big dirt spiral out near the mountains in the distance. &nbsp;It was quite remarkable, actually, and rather beautiful, too.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-x4gvP2HNlm8/VyAttNkf0kI/AAAAAAAAL-8/RLbjdhbIic84y9qTfew2_MbuXQsDg_Y6QCLcB/s1600/j207%2BFamily%2BWalk-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-x4gvP2HNlm8/VyAttNkf0kI/AAAAAAAAL-8/RLbjdhbIic84y9qTfew2_MbuXQsDg_Y6QCLcB/s640/j207%2BFamily%2BWalk-5.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Traveling along that same road, we approached the backside of our back fence and found there to be a small tower of bricks precariously placed so that a child might use them to hop the fence into our backyard. &nbsp;A small smile crept across my face and I felt happiness in my heart at the thought of the children building such a tower for the purpose of coming in and out. &nbsp;Occasionally from my windows I'll see a small neighbor's head pop up over that back fence. &nbsp;That small head is checking to see if there are any children at play back there, you see, and if the answer is <i>yes</i>&nbsp;you can be sure that the precariously placed tower of bricks will be used to hoist another body up and over.<br /><br />I thought about re-stacking the bricks... or even buying a little stepping stool with which to replace them. &nbsp;But in the end, I feel like the precarious tower of bricks is too much a part of the beauty. &nbsp;Beauty in the thought through solution of a child's problem. &nbsp;A beauty, in general, of childhood.Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150657897645335754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19344949.post-34015313124418023342016-05-10T20:00:00.000-07:002016-05-10T20:00:00.174-07:00Mom-ing Together<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BVcmmxuYbxM/VxwHwfp9jWI/AAAAAAAAL48/H152rkpPMVU3BY5AaWjM9Fg0YmvO63AQQCLcB/s1600/j196%2BBirdno%2527s%2BVisit-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BVcmmxuYbxM/VxwHwfp9jWI/AAAAAAAAL48/H152rkpPMVU3BY5AaWjM9Fg0YmvO63AQQCLcB/s640/j196%2BBirdno%2527s%2BVisit-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Friendship is important to me. &nbsp;Maybe you think that is a lame thing to say because friendship is important to everyone. &nbsp;But still. &nbsp;Friendship is important to me. &nbsp;And one of the cool things about having friendships as adults is that, generally, each girlfriend is packaged together with a whole bunch of people that they call&nbsp;<i>husband</i>&nbsp;and <i>children...</i>&nbsp;so when one girlfriend comes to visit, she might bring that whole package of&nbsp;friends with her to mix and blend with mine. &nbsp;This always makes my house feel very full and happy.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qFzS_GylCG8/VxwHxbOm2ZI/AAAAAAAAL5I/jA06x6s2w4cSmd4tTdtsSVK_d_Xo35PVACLcB/s1600/j196%2BBirdno%2527s%2BVisit-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qFzS_GylCG8/VxwHxbOm2ZI/AAAAAAAAL5I/jA06x6s2w4cSmd4tTdtsSVK_d_Xo35PVACLcB/s640/j196%2BBirdno%2527s%2BVisit-4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Filling out NCAA brackets. &nbsp;Yes, this was in March, but who's counting?</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yPR8J-j2JrU/VxwHxx2-N8I/AAAAAAAAL5M/AcbMTjr_-DAy06Ysav7nl-tNThdw-BPfwCLcB/s1600/j196%2BBirdno%2527s%2BVisit-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yPR8J-j2JrU/VxwHxx2-N8I/AAAAAAAAL5M/AcbMTjr_-DAy06Ysav7nl-tNThdw-BPfwCLcB/s640/j196%2BBirdno%2527s%2BVisit-6.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />The Birdnos came to visit from Arizona for their spring break. &nbsp;Merrill had a conference here in Vegas and, since it paired with their kids' spring break, would have made a family trip to visit seem like a no brainer under normal circumstances. &nbsp;But, in this case, the circumstances were <i>not </i>very&nbsp;normal, as poor 13-year-old Mikayla was scheduled to have a tonsillectomy just a couple of days before Merrill's conference. &nbsp;So, Cami put me on alert a couple of weeks before and said that, as long as Mikayla was feeling up for it, they would be here to play.<br /><br />I'm not quite sure exactly <i>how </i>'up to it' Mikayla was feeling, but they came! And we made a nice bed on the couch right in the middle of the fun for her to rest and heal, yet not miss out. <br /><br />Brian and Merrill were both gone throughout the days, but Cami and I are mom-pros and handled the 10 children on our own just fine. &nbsp;It was a different sort of reunion for us, though... generally when we get together, we like to Go and Do throughout the days - but with Mikayla in her post surgery state, we were rooted to the home and I got to spend time with Cami as we both filled our roles of <i>mother</i>. &nbsp;I helped my kids with homework and made dinner while she answered the call of her alarm to give Mikayla more medicine. &nbsp;We toweled off freezing kids from the pool, and we covered tiny scratches with band-aids. &nbsp;We filled hungry tummies and brushed hair and fielded arguments and, just when we were getting into a good conversation, would be interrupted to do it all over again. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SqYwy7xLYsM/VxwHwsbo0JI/AAAAAAAAL44/JkERBx_4DZY4OhVXe0IxhKdpiI64s60PQCLcB/s1600/j196%2BBirdno%2527s%2BVisit-15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SqYwy7xLYsM/VxwHwsbo0JI/AAAAAAAAL44/JkERBx_4DZY4OhVXe0IxhKdpiI64s60PQCLcB/s640/j196%2BBirdno%2527s%2BVisit-15.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>This water was quite cold. &nbsp;And the air wasn't much better. &nbsp;But peer pressure can be a powerful thing, you know.</i></span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OTtNvOEsoRU/VxwHwjz0feI/AAAAAAAAL40/Uy6zvmBEovcZNg-9Qt9hboX8iOD4gzgYwCLcB/s1600/j196%2BBirdno%2527s%2BVisit-20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OTtNvOEsoRU/VxwHwjz0feI/AAAAAAAAL40/Uy6zvmBEovcZNg-9Qt9hboX8iOD4gzgYwCLcB/s640/j196%2BBirdno%2527s%2BVisit-20.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y7NcszCpdY0/VxwHxH4KU7I/AAAAAAAAL5E/7Dk2POhDM9UjTRXiDhDaRtneyaDhCtJzQCLcB/s1600/j196%2BBirdno%2527s%2BVisit-21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y7NcszCpdY0/VxwHxH4KU7I/AAAAAAAAL5E/7Dk2POhDM9UjTRXiDhDaRtneyaDhCtJzQCLcB/s640/j196%2BBirdno%2527s%2BVisit-21.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />I always love watching Cami be a mom... her patience with the kids' unceasing requests, her love for their sweetness, her laugh at their cuteness. &nbsp;She is a worker and her work is her children.<br /><br />We were able to get away for a short while, though, and Cami took me up in the mountains to introduce me to one of her favorite things: mountain biking.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SaRCbk23aPk/VxwHx1PBQCI/AAAAAAAAL5Q/ch_PTw4Y1AI_J7zK623b-DXw7-Esos08ACLcB/s1600/j196%2BBirdno%2527s%2BVisit-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SaRCbk23aPk/VxwHx1PBQCI/AAAAAAAAL5Q/ch_PTw4Y1AI_J7zK623b-DXw7-Esos08ACLcB/s640/j196%2BBirdno%2527s%2BVisit-7.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I <i>loved</i>&nbsp;it. &nbsp;Being out in the mountain air, feeling the sun on my skin, breathing hard and deep as I pedaled up the mountain climbs, learning to trust my bike and, best of all, being with one of my very best friends. &nbsp;We laughed and talked and cheerfully solved our way out of being lost.&nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KJw7g1aNT-8/VxwHyCjeqQI/AAAAAAAAL5U/OWx1mVqOiOQM0rjTF5DdiNTxZ6rt5fiZQCLcB/s1600/j196%2BBirdno%2527s%2BVisit-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KJw7g1aNT-8/VxwHyCjeqQI/AAAAAAAAL5U/OWx1mVqOiOQM0rjTF5DdiNTxZ6rt5fiZQCLcB/s640/j196%2BBirdno%2527s%2BVisit-8.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Cami is such a great friend.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1oSphJLxsfk/VxwHyQO19eI/AAAAAAAAL5Y/qfhp-M6dra4MFHGPDRZfO6UoMwakGZhuQCLcB/s1600/j196%2BBirdno%2527s%2BVisit-9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1oSphJLxsfk/VxwHyQO19eI/AAAAAAAAL5Y/qfhp-M6dra4MFHGPDRZfO6UoMwakGZhuQCLcB/s640/j196%2BBirdno%2527s%2BVisit-9.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The last night they were visiting, we popped a pizza in the oven for the kids, set up a party outside, and then left them all to fend for themselves.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AGZQZwSSf-s/VxwHxaiDOII/AAAAAAAAL5A/07L3ipLPW9k8WTUnLWCzBvtuXE6DpSIyQCLcB/s1600/j196%2BBirdno%2527s%2BVisit-22.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AGZQZwSSf-s/VxwHxaiDOII/AAAAAAAAL5A/07L3ipLPW9k8WTUnLWCzBvtuXE6DpSIyQCLcB/s640/j196%2BBirdno%2527s%2BVisit-22.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We adults drove into Henderson and had our own, grown up dinner (read: no pizza), and had some heart-healing conversations about life and faith and friendship. &nbsp;We are so lucky to have the Birdnos in our lives and can't wait till they come visit again!</div>Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150657897645335754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19344949.post-78606174315817777622016-05-09T19:21:00.000-07:002016-05-09T19:21:05.186-07:00Picture the Family<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZKyHkEY-KO0/VyAk6roF6cI/AAAAAAAAL-U/Q2fEJ_t9B7YghI4zjD7vYQFkPXwrW7f0wCLcB/s1600/j201%2BHappy%2BEaster-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZKyHkEY-KO0/VyAk6roF6cI/AAAAAAAAL-U/Q2fEJ_t9B7YghI4zjD7vYQFkPXwrW7f0wCLcB/s640/j201%2BHappy%2BEaster-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />"Mama, can you take my picture like dis?" he asked. &nbsp;Why, of course, little one.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o3ZIT31w5Xc/VyAk6DpXE4I/AAAAAAAAL-M/OxjQrgV_KXkM_ue5Htvn-HRN16c4xdnOACLcB/s1600/j201%2BHappy%2BEaster-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o3ZIT31w5Xc/VyAk6DpXE4I/AAAAAAAAL-M/OxjQrgV_KXkM_ue5Htvn-HRN16c4xdnOACLcB/s640/j201%2BHappy%2BEaster-10.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />"Mama, why did you take my picture like that?" she asked. &nbsp;Well, because, beautiful... you looked so grown up I couldn't stand to let you grow one more minute without capturing it.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O_ruNsdvknc/VyAk6lWK94I/AAAAAAAAL-Y/c8SeQ5zzT1wfDPFBsa24V4PjInPPPkH8gCLcB/s1600/j201%2BHappy%2BEaster-9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O_ruNsdvknc/VyAk6lWK94I/AAAAAAAAL-Y/c8SeQ5zzT1wfDPFBsa24V4PjInPPPkH8gCLcB/s640/j201%2BHappy%2BEaster-9.jpg" width="520" /></a></div><br />"Mama, do we have to stand here?" they asked. &nbsp;Well, yes. Because it's the middle of the afternoon and this is the only spot I can find where the harsh light will not interfere with your beautiful faces.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-J7qIYO2ZIWk/VyAk6Cf1SFI/AAAAAAAAL-I/vzJsekNaTCMrr6eMvbFoVL7BgKOnNUKfQCLcB/s1600/j201%2BHappy%2BEaster-11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-J7qIYO2ZIWk/VyAk6Cf1SFI/AAAAAAAAL-I/vzJsekNaTCMrr6eMvbFoVL7BgKOnNUKfQCLcB/s640/j201%2BHappy%2BEaster-11.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Mama, do you want a shot of my booty?" he asked. &nbsp;Of course. &nbsp;Because that will help me remember how goofy and fun you are.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-b4idHGz0hqY/VyAk6LxQ3iI/AAAAAAAAL-Q/DaVX7AIkRX0uCfc7D62OKSvcrQ3vjAELQCLcB/s1600/j201%2BHappy%2BEaster-14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-b4idHGz0hqY/VyAk6LxQ3iI/AAAAAAAAL-Q/DaVX7AIkRX0uCfc7D62OKSvcrQ3vjAELQCLcB/s640/j201%2BHappy%2BEaster-14.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />"Mama, I'm tired of pictures and I'm going to start taking my shirt off, little by little, until it's all the way off and then you can't take any more pictures at all," he said. &nbsp;Well okay, we'd best get a family one in quickly then.<br /><br />Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150657897645335754noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19344949.post-62397220871231381582016-05-07T19:20:00.000-07:002016-05-07T19:20:10.440-07:00Cub Scout Criminals<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Kx7lrVJEwa0/VyAttWartCI/AAAAAAAAL_M/LOeqaTXN_aoEGMgqnYHauvJ0vu1jYWunQCLcB/s1600/j208%2BBoy%2BScout%2BTrip%2Bto%2BBCPD-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Kx7lrVJEwa0/VyAttWartCI/AAAAAAAAL_M/LOeqaTXN_aoEGMgqnYHauvJ0vu1jYWunQCLcB/s640/j208%2BBoy%2BScout%2BTrip%2Bto%2BBCPD-2.jpg" width="640" /></a><br /><br />Let's be honest here for a minute. &nbsp;I haven't exactly been thrilled about my calling lately. &nbsp;Bear Den Leader is my title. &nbsp;Fighting for the control of nine, nine-year-old boys right after school to teach them responsibility while they're holding knives or swinging loaded paintbrushes or galloping through the grocery store aisles like frightened, wild geese is my job.<br /><br />But this den meeting was pretty awesome.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9NgPSkylpXY/VyAttKOrpXI/AAAAAAAAL_A/hyf6MczxWr8Zmh2Z8oQWvK4rkrLWeb3hACLcB/s1600/j208%2BBoy%2BScout%2BTrip%2Bto%2BBCPD-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9NgPSkylpXY/VyAttKOrpXI/AAAAAAAAL_A/hyf6MczxWr8Zmh2Z8oQWvK4rkrLWeb3hACLcB/s640/j208%2BBoy%2BScout%2BTrip%2Bto%2BBCPD-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />I'd never actually seen what the inside of a police station looked like and I was just as excited as the boys (though, I don't mean to brag, but I controlled my excitement p.r.e.t.t.y. well and refrained from joining the boys in jumping, punching, squawking, running, and overall acting like a chimpanzee). &nbsp;Officer Daly was perfect with them and gave them just the right amount of candy, spent a heavy amount of time in the <span style="font-size: xx-small;">super tiny </span>gun room answering loads of questions like,<br /><br />"Can I please take a bullet home!?" No<br />"Can I try holding a gun?!" No<br />"Will you shoot me with one of your fake bullets?!" No<br />"Do you have any supercoolspecificgun?!" Yes.<br /><br />He locked them up in the holding cells and then let me take pictures of them pretending to be criminals. &nbsp;Because apparently acting like a criminal when you're actually <i>not</i>&nbsp;one is a pretty fun thing to do.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lG3YaYAFJw4/VyAttgv7WTI/AAAAAAAAL_I/qy5bt0PoEIUTYi0ZA01Yn60cB5sS-QvqwCLcB/s1600/j208%2BBoy%2BScout%2BTrip%2Bto%2BBCPD-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lG3YaYAFJw4/VyAttgv7WTI/AAAAAAAAL_I/qy5bt0PoEIUTYi0ZA01Yn60cB5sS-QvqwCLcB/s640/j208%2BBoy%2BScout%2BTrip%2Bto%2BBCPD-6.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><br />They all had their own interpretation of what a criminal might look like.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-U9_8jJLcjMM/VywEELj6q1I/AAAAAAAAMCQ/MtAiXghuI5Iv8dtmzSm-6WwsEgEUMFPgQCLcB/s1600/Blog21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-U9_8jJLcjMM/VywEELj6q1I/AAAAAAAAMCQ/MtAiXghuI5Iv8dtmzSm-6WwsEgEUMFPgQCLcB/s640/Blog21.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />In the dispatch room, the dispatchers were happy to look up the boys' houses on their fancy computers. &nbsp;And occasionally a really great question would come from a cub. "Do you like your job here?" &nbsp;"What is a normal day like?" &nbsp;"When you call 911, where does it go?"<br /><br />At the end of our hour, Officer Daly took them to the parking lot, opened the door to his police car, turned it on, and stepped back out. "Okay..." he said sweeping his hand in front of the car, "have at it. &nbsp;You can go inside and push any buttons you'd like. &nbsp;Just be courteous to each other and take turns." &nbsp;The boys looked at each other with wide, wild eyes and it was in that moment that I appreciated my calling and the chance it gives me to see Carson in&nbsp;<i>his</i>&nbsp;setting. &nbsp;There he was, right in the middle of it all, surrounded by friends who shared in his very same excitement. &nbsp;There's a magic in that. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-t07DzYe1EcI/VyAttCDNYUI/AAAAAAAAL_E/NWcBwAu06I4fsHkHMIjs7_VASZYJuKENwCLcB/s1600/j208%2BBoy%2BScout%2BTrip%2Bto%2BBCPD-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-t07DzYe1EcI/VyAttCDNYUI/AAAAAAAAL_E/NWcBwAu06I4fsHkHMIjs7_VASZYJuKENwCLcB/s640/j208%2BBoy%2BScout%2BTrip%2Bto%2BBCPD-10.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />They were not shy and had no problem discovering the sirens and the lights and the incredibly loud megaphone from which they shouted poop jokes. &nbsp;Teenagers came running from five blocks away to see what all the commotion was and ended up buckling in laughter when they found that what they thought was going to be a massive police showdown turned out to be a whole fleet of cub scouts instead.<br /><br />And at the end of the afternoon I humbly admitted that cub scouts <i>can</i>&nbsp;be fun.Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150657897645335754noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19344949.post-86175837952914156182016-05-05T18:53:00.001-07:002016-05-05T18:53:50.543-07:00The Stories of Spring Break<div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rmZNbx9dz1M/Vx12TTPELCI/AAAAAAAAL78/PolWZvXaXpwgOQ7V62Hc3GA24NSDbZT4QCLcB/s1600/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rmZNbx9dz1M/Vx12TTPELCI/AAAAAAAAL78/PolWZvXaXpwgOQ7V62Hc3GA24NSDbZT4QCLcB/s640/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-17.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Grandma's house is a happy house. There is music and there is love and there are delicious smells coming from the kitchen almost all the time. &nbsp;A few weeks before Easter this year, Grandma sent a package through the mail. &nbsp;I was delighted to find a beautifully illustrated book of one of my favorite songs. &nbsp;It's called <i>Gethsemane</i> and it brings a tender message of Christ's love for me through its lyrics. On the CD that I own, it is sung by a child with a clear, pure voice and it moves me every. single. time I hear it. &nbsp;I thumbed through each page of my new book, soaking in the pictures and words, and gasped for joy when I found that the very last pages held the sheet music. &nbsp;Ever since I was introduced to the song I have wanted to hear Carson sing it... he has one of those voices that move me, too.<br /><br />"Carson! Kenz! &nbsp;Come here!" I yelled through the house as I bee-lined for the piano. "I want you to sing this song with me!" <br /><br />Grandma had also sent a little note asking the children to learn this song so they could sing it for her the next time she saw them. &nbsp;Which they did when we visited Utah for spring break. &nbsp;Beautiful.<br /><br />------------</div><div><br />It was an interesting vacation this time. Usually when we go to Utah our goal is to spend as much time with family as we possibly can. &nbsp;And so we do - and we love it. &nbsp;We sit on couches or stand in kitchens and visit and catch up on each other's lives. &nbsp;But this time we went to see <i>Utah</i>. &nbsp;Because even though we've been to Utah dozens of times in my kids' lifetimes, we've never actually taken them to the Utah <i>things.</i><br /><br />Now, most of the Utah things on my list of Utah Things have to do with the outdoors. &nbsp;Hikes that climb beautiful mountains or end at waterfalls, exploring Park City or BYU's campus, for example. &nbsp;And as luck or fate would have it, northern Utah was still winterish and cold and wet during the week that our school district had decided to deem as Spring Break. &nbsp;So most of our things had to be transferred to a Next Time list. <br /><br />Which opened up little pockets of time here and there that were filled by visiting friends that we love and eating food in their homes because, is there ever anything more wonderful to do than to share a meal with people you love?<br /><br />Monday, however, did not play the same dreary-wet song as the rest of the week, so we piled into the van and headed to Temple Square with an open invitation for all family to join us. &nbsp;My mom and sister took us up on it.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gR2cmt-1m9w/Vx12TgqAMmI/AAAAAAAAL8E/Oy8YmaIpTTErjWouc9pPql7FtDvhtg3WACLcB/s1600/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gR2cmt-1m9w/Vx12TgqAMmI/AAAAAAAAL8E/Oy8YmaIpTTErjWouc9pPql7FtDvhtg3WACLcB/s640/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-20.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Which was a wonderful thing because my mom is a sort of Beauty Seeker herself, and I love having her by my side pointing out little spots of beauty that I otherwise might not have noticed. &nbsp;This day the beauty was in the yellow daffodils lining a hedge, turning their necks to reach the sun. &nbsp;And it was in the face of a sweet, Asian sister missionary that my mother, in sensing that the sister was Thai, approached to say hello to her in her native tongue. &nbsp;The missionary, upon hearing her own language, beamed with excitement and threw her arms open for a hug.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-j-zVbEX0gKA/Vx12T_XZc7I/AAAAAAAAL8I/zAnE4n5kWZc3-sZ7hmErS98aw73Pi8z1wCLcB/s1600/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-j-zVbEX0gKA/Vx12T_XZc7I/AAAAAAAAL8I/zAnE4n5kWZc3-sZ7hmErS98aw73Pi8z1wCLcB/s640/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-22.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We settled into the tabernacle benches to listen to an organ concert and discovered that organ music sounds rather scary and traumatic to the heart of Timothy. &nbsp;"It's sc-eery," he said, body shaking and hands over his ears to block out as much sound as possible. &nbsp;Thankfully he had a flock of caring people around him to help him feel 'safe'. &nbsp;Power of Music, indeed.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z5LK0X0jFmk/Vx12T3NQjCI/AAAAAAAAL8M/NZ34UBnQIYIF4MH0BOyHGS35_p3tnsuIACLcB/s1600/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z5LK0X0jFmk/Vx12T3NQjCI/AAAAAAAAL8M/NZ34UBnQIYIF4MH0BOyHGS35_p3tnsuIACLcB/s640/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-27.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>My mom took Timothy home shortly after to put him down for a nap. &nbsp;I was grateful, and it changed the atmosphere a bit without his toddler energy circling around us and tying our attention in knots. I had some beautiful conversations with the older kids about the power of serving other people, and about the power of Christ. &nbsp;In one of the visitors centers on Temple Square, they have a whole section devoted to service, and I was stirred to tears through it. &nbsp;Service has been on my mind a lot lately, and I was so grateful to have the chance to take my kids through and to tell them all that was in my heart. &nbsp;We talked about the good Samaritan and discussed ways that we could be more like him. &nbsp;We talked about the homeless people we had passed on the streets that very day who were begging for money and we agreed that, while unsure of the best way to help, we couldn't imagine that the Savior would just turn his face and ignore them. &nbsp;We can give them something, we decided... even if it's just a warm smile, or a decent conversation, or a simple acknowledgment that we <i>see</i>&nbsp;them and understand that we are together in this fight of life.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3U-vjQnRLwo/Vx12UJDzfWI/AAAAAAAAL8Q/k8bHHxzyhT0IZbbGggQbkn1Rj-MxkAHnQCLcB/s1600/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3U-vjQnRLwo/Vx12UJDzfWI/AAAAAAAAL8Q/k8bHHxzyhT0IZbbGggQbkn1Rj-MxkAHnQCLcB/s640/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-28.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The church history museum on the other side of the road was incredible and giant and impossible for us to get everything we wanted out of it in one single afternoon. &nbsp;Brian and I were able to talk to McKenzie about some of the more difficult things in our church's history (such as polygamy) and to introduce her to the idea that not everything in the church is sunshine and roses. &nbsp;There are hard questions, both in present times and from historical times, that she will face. And she will need to use her brain and mostly her heart to prayerfully come to terms with those questions. But that the goal of this life is not to be able to find all of the answers. &nbsp;The goal of this life is to develop <i>faith</i>&nbsp;and <i>trust</i>&nbsp;in our Savior, Jesus Christ, and to use that faith, as a principle of action, to become more and more like the Savior himself.<br /><br />If we had all the answers to all the questions, I suppose we wouldn't have much need for faith and trust.<br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bQZ_o9v0M9M/Vx12UZOlQ3I/AAAAAAAAL8U/i1HhfLkgfY0-DOd7bFXGBx3JLnnPOxFVgCLcB/s1600/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bQZ_o9v0M9M/Vx12UZOlQ3I/AAAAAAAAL8U/i1HhfLkgfY0-DOd7bFXGBx3JLnnPOxFVgCLcB/s640/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-32.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>My stalwart sister, Michelle, hung through with us until the very end, when the FOUR toes she'd had surgery on just a week or two before started slowing her down. &nbsp;You know those people in your life that make everything more fun? &nbsp;Michelle is one of those people... probably for every single person she knows.<br /><br />---------------------<br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mf_rzc8RglA/Vx12Uk_EFGI/AAAAAAAAL8c/V9Yg0wgyLacml78wzUZBVb-WJRSxfj2RgCLcB/s1600/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-40.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="512" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mf_rzc8RglA/Vx12Uk_EFGI/AAAAAAAAL8c/V9Yg0wgyLacml78wzUZBVb-WJRSxfj2RgCLcB/s640/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-40.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>On the drive up to Utah I posted a picture on Instagram of our road trip. &nbsp;A short while later, my dear friend Becky sent a text that said, "Where are you headed today? We are Utah bound..."<br /><br />This was significant because Becky lives in Oregon and is one of the closest people to my heart. Friendships are weird sometimes and you can't always predict who will be in your life ten years from now. &nbsp;Dear friends come and color your life for seasons and, even when nothing goes wrong, can fade away. <br /><br />But not Becky. &nbsp;Becky will stay. &nbsp;She's a sister to me. &nbsp;I fell on her like a crutch for several weeks through that series of crises back in 2012-13, and I might have broken had I not had her by my side. She withstood the weight and pressure with a strength I can only describe as Becky Strength... those of you who know Becky well will understand what I mean, and those of you who don't can't imagine.&nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-krYZmoRie5Q/Vx12U2g6ioI/AAAAAAAAL8k/7wTT0fymsRsZCojxpNvN9Rf7CzJEk79mgCLcB/s1600/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-41.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-krYZmoRie5Q/Vx12U2g6ioI/AAAAAAAAL8k/7wTT0fymsRsZCojxpNvN9Rf7CzJEk79mgCLcB/s640/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-41.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>So, immediately upon receiving her text, I called.<br />"You're on your way to Utah?!" I said. &nbsp;"Us too!"<br />Plans were arranged and rearranged and we met up with each other at the Bean Life and Science museum for an afternoon of Togetherness. <br />I love this friend.<br /><br />-------------------</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QrNNndYRv9I/Vx12UweBNNI/AAAAAAAAL8g/IqIk1gIxxGE1pBonWikORQzaJpezpVvUQCLcB/s1600/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QrNNndYRv9I/Vx12UweBNNI/AAAAAAAAL8g/IqIk1gIxxGE1pBonWikORQzaJpezpVvUQCLcB/s640/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-47.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>On the day we were to return back home, the Easter Bunny came to my parents beautiful home and set up an Easter egg hunt for my kids.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8nmL71VedB8/Vx12VFVDmqI/AAAAAAAAL8o/S0ARbhgje5oItcgYY4VpRcvQNSkp0d7oACLcB/s1600/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-55.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8nmL71VedB8/Vx12VFVDmqI/AAAAAAAAL8o/S0ARbhgje5oItcgYY4VpRcvQNSkp0d7oACLcB/s640/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-55.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>My mom is a master at creating Special Days. &nbsp;Holidays, birthdays, just-because-I-love-you days, she has a beautiful ability to nail the Wow factor. &nbsp;It was she who invited the Easter Bunny to come early, insisted that he hide over 200 eggs, and hang a pinata full of candy (if you'll remember, I only have four children). &nbsp;She hard boiled 2 dozen eggs for the kids to dye, and made a delicious breakfast for us to eat all before we left her home for our 6 hour drive back home.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T0lgFRH47TQ/Vx12VR8DLMI/AAAAAAAAL8s/yvCvwSg--rIDjzH65YqhmcDGNq0olsgUQCLcB/s1600/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-60.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T0lgFRH47TQ/Vx12VR8DLMI/AAAAAAAAL8s/yvCvwSg--rIDjzH65YqhmcDGNq0olsgUQCLcB/s640/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-60.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>My kids left with their baskets entirely full of candy and had happy, we-love-Nana-stomachaches all. the way. home.</div>Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150657897645335754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19344949.post-23500584482650727762016-04-30T13:51:00.000-07:002016-04-30T13:51:45.829-07:00War, Wisdom, and Great Grandpa Alder<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5TU4Mn3jRmo/Vx12Ubajm3I/AAAAAAAAL8Y/mzgEBuDvUG04kDvIgVRIyFnLOc1sf-yEQCLcB/s1600/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5TU4Mn3jRmo/Vx12Ubajm3I/AAAAAAAAL8Y/mzgEBuDvUG04kDvIgVRIyFnLOc1sf-yEQCLcB/s640/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-4.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><br />I-15 stretched before us for miles and miles and the children were quiet in the backseats. &nbsp;Through the radio the sounds of Christian lyrics and gentle harmonies helped bring about the stillness and reverence that I love and anticipate come each Sabbath. &nbsp;Our wheels were rolling south, away from the small farm-town of Malad, Idaho where, tucked away in the sleepy streets, we had found the old home of Great Grandpa Alder and had taken our children in to listen to his stories.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wuFq7S0Y2Uc/Vx12VjUICUI/AAAAAAAAL8w/EZ0CqgLG57U4RcQZPi00BXh5r_W1hTn2QCLcB/s1600/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wuFq7S0Y2Uc/Vx12VjUICUI/AAAAAAAAL8w/EZ0CqgLG57U4RcQZPi00BXh5r_W1hTn2QCLcB/s640/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-7.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>Ninety-four years of experience and wisdom hide in this kind, humble man. An air force pilot who flew in World War II, we asked him to tell us some war stories but, smiling at the invisible memories, he flicked his wrist dismissively and said, "Oh... well... that was a long time ago." &nbsp;We pressed and out came a most humble retelling of a beautifully heroic story in our own family history. <br /><br />It was a story that took place in a B-24 bomber, in the air, over Nazi Germany. &nbsp;It was <i>his</i>&nbsp;B-24 bomber, of course, and he, dressed in uniform and sitting in the pilot seat, was working to fulfill the mission he had been sent there to complete. &nbsp;But they "hit some flak" as he said (which I had to ask about in order to learn that that means 'shot from the ground by Germans with anti-aircraft guns'), and it did enough damage that they found themselves spiraling out of control towards the hard, enemy land.<br /><br />His co-pilot panicked as they dropped 2,000, 5,000, 10,000 ft. from the sky, "and I had to... to reach over," he demonstrated by reaching his arm out to his side, "and hit him just as hard as I could. &nbsp;Just... just like this," he slammed his fist into his own chest and relaxed back into his living room chair with an amused laugh. "It worked," he shrugged. &nbsp;They regained control of the aircraft and hobbled the damaged plane over the Alps to the safety of Switzerland where he spent the last 6 weeks of the war as a POW.<br /><br />I thought about this story as the mini-van carried us further from the inviting warmth of his living room, and it became more and more real as the miles between us increased. &nbsp;<i>How&nbsp;remarkable,</i>&nbsp;I thought, <i>that he was able to keep his head clear through that whole thing and save the lives of all the men in his plane...</i>&nbsp; As the facts replayed in my mind, I saw true heroics in it all.<br /><br />But his voice had been so quiet as he told the story, and his tone so humble it made me feel as if he might have been recounting what he had eaten for lunch that very afternoon. &nbsp;No fancy phrasing, no heroic words, just simple facts from a humble heart. &nbsp;Simple facts that, when strung together and played with a measure of feeling, leave me rather breathless at the suspense and true fear he must have faced in those moments - and so many others - in the war.<br /><br />There must be millions of stories like this from World War II alone. Beautiful, terrible, hard stories that add depth and meaning to families. Stories told in English, and in German, and Japanese... <br /><br />Thankfully Great Grandpa Alder's story ended well. &nbsp;He returned home to his wife and they built a beautiful family in which I am lucky to take part. <br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fOjtpphLhnU/Vx12Srs1UZI/AAAAAAAAL7s/LVWFpUF2qIYVpITjGlOgmZrNzdTrNL51QCLcB/s1600/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fOjtpphLhnU/Vx12Srs1UZI/AAAAAAAAL7s/LVWFpUF2qIYVpITjGlOgmZrNzdTrNL51QCLcB/s640/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-14.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>He has children, and grandchildren, and great grandchildren who have all played at his feet. &nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--v6HWAufJWQ/Vx12SmNuNHI/AAAAAAAAL70/ovSbxRdnFPIwbZk9FALpSgk4ejzQhk-BACLcB/s1600/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--v6HWAufJWQ/Vx12SmNuNHI/AAAAAAAAL70/ovSbxRdnFPIwbZk9FALpSgk4ejzQhk-BACLcB/s640/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-12.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />As I watched Miles play this paper and cardboard basketball game, the same one that Brian played with as a child that has somehow, miraculously, survived the years, I wished that he could just <i>stay there</i> and soak up as much wisdom as he could from the old man sitting only five feet away.</div><div><br />But the time for goodbyes came, and Great Grandpa Alder wrapped each of us up in a hug, squeezed the children tight and said his traditional, "Ohhhhhhh, baby!" in their ears. &nbsp;We waved as we stepped out on the porch with promises to visit the next time we were in the area.<br /><br />"Well, don't wait <i>too</i> long!" he called with wink and a smile,&nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-e7WbUjioEFY/Vx12THXaNDI/AAAAAAAAL74/bgMGsAmBum0rJCR9udP9netp0rw7QESaACLcB/s1600/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-e7WbUjioEFY/Vx12THXaNDI/AAAAAAAAL74/bgMGsAmBum0rJCR9udP9netp0rw7QESaACLcB/s640/j198%2BSpring%2BBreak-15.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><i>He said the same thing to us the last time we saw him</i>, I remembered, the side of my head resting against the glass of the passenger side window, <i>just a few months ago.</i>&nbsp; The trees outside moved so quickly across my view, each individual tree blurring so completely with the next, that my eyes didn't even try bringing them into focus. &nbsp;Instead, they rested in the blur while my mind analyzed how wonderful it would be if we all could live in a large family community - great grandparents and great grandchildren, parents and grandparents, children and grandchildren, all mixing together and sharing, as only families can, the walks of their daily grind. The young sharing energy. &nbsp;The old sharing&nbsp;<i>life</i>. <br /><br />But the car traveled on,<br />putting miles<br />and miles<br />and miles between<br />the kids in the car<br />and ninety-four years of wisdom.</div>Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150657897645335754noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19344949.post-24964648740712417912016-04-14T20:16:00.000-07:002016-04-14T20:16:03.808-07:00A New Kind of Beauty<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IORZ7x6XwrQ/Vv3ovCmbmeI/AAAAAAAALtg/-1pgNZJyX44ih69XcqlozpoHIGDJkukvA/s1600/j162%2BDesert%2BHike-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IORZ7x6XwrQ/Vv3ovCmbmeI/AAAAAAAALtg/-1pgNZJyX44ih69XcqlozpoHIGDJkukvA/s640/j162%2BDesert%2BHike-6.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>We used to live on the beach, you know. &nbsp;A real beach with soft sand and crystal clear water. &nbsp;With dolphins and sting rays and manatees visible from our back porch. &nbsp;With gentle, rolling waves and soft breezes. &nbsp;With rainfalls so hard they made you laugh and winds so strong they made you fear. &nbsp;My big camera lived on my shoulder that year and never felt like a burden because wherever I went there was something incredible and beautiful to capture.<br /><br />This is not that place.&nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RuGDLHU2Fhk/Vv3ovGODwuI/AAAAAAAALto/oviwJkKg8zQuR_kxbY2ZSmivt_F5G1cgQ/s1600/j162%2BDesert%2BHike-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RuGDLHU2Fhk/Vv3ovGODwuI/AAAAAAAALto/oviwJkKg8zQuR_kxbY2ZSmivt_F5G1cgQ/s640/j162%2BDesert%2BHike-4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I knew it wouldn't be, of course. &nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vHdQWf0sQb0/Vv3oviEM4rI/AAAAAAAALts/CUv4cgZy9hwo_Od9BABds9kQVo13wPPYg/s1600/j162%2BDesert%2BHike-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vHdQWf0sQb0/Vv3oviEM4rI/AAAAAAAALts/CUv4cgZy9hwo_Od9BABds9kQVo13wPPYg/s640/j162%2BDesert%2BHike-8.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The colors here feel a bit muted and noticeably lacking in green.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-u0RVAyQMV1Y/Vv3ovzPeNwI/AAAAAAAALt0/ttI9Hzd_KhA7kzV-KIYw8LxHpkrxAy7kw/s1600/j162%2BDesert%2BHike-9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-u0RVAyQMV1Y/Vv3ovzPeNwI/AAAAAAAALt0/ttI9Hzd_KhA7kzV-KIYw8LxHpkrxAy7kw/s640/j162%2BDesert%2BHike-9.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>But I'm starting to see it. &nbsp;I kind of feel like a newborn puppy - born to this desert home with my eyes tightly shut to the beauty around me. &nbsp;Did you know that puppies are born with their eyelids closed because their eyes are not developed yet? &nbsp;And even when their eyelids do start to open, their eyes are still developing and will not see well for several weeks to come.<br /><br />I get that.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cPLNrR-0rMw/Vv3ovh4wskI/AAAAAAAALtw/9njxGHyFGhgYn4upy1LRw_HveNtKLPsFw/s1600/j162%2BDesert%2BHike-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cPLNrR-0rMw/Vv3ovh4wskI/AAAAAAAALtw/9njxGHyFGhgYn4upy1LRw_HveNtKLPsFw/s640/j162%2BDesert%2BHike-7.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />I've accepted that the desert will never be the ocean, a lizard will never be a dolphin, a desert shrub will never be a sand dune, and orange will never be green.<br /><br />But that's okay. &nbsp;There is beauty here, too. &nbsp;The sunsets alone can carry me for days.<br /><br />We have rose gardens in our yard exploding with hundreds of silky bright roses in stunning colors, we have a pomegranate tree speckled with fluorescent red flowers that shine through its gentle green leaves, we have lavender and basil and oregano and mint adding sweet fragrance to the air. &nbsp;This is not their natural habitat, but their beauty can thrive here and add itself to the unique beauty of the desert.<br /><br />I think I get that.<br /><br />Maybe I can, too.</div>Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150657897645335754noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19344949.post-74733095138723339642016-04-11T20:14:00.000-07:002016-05-08T16:42:38.222-07:00Scrambled Thoughts XV<b>*Teeth Glasses. &nbsp;It's a thing.</b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/--11BGXJ-G5Y/Vv3lVNr8jyI/AAAAAAAALtI/iTEGRz9wRDo6Hia7X23KDuQX0apFRWIIw/s1600/j155%2BKenzie%2527s%2BNew%2BBraces-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/--11BGXJ-G5Y/Vv3lVNr8jyI/AAAAAAAALtI/iTEGRz9wRDo6Hia7X23KDuQX0apFRWIIw/s640/j155%2BKenzie%2527s%2BNew%2BBraces-4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Maybe you can't tell from the photo above, but this girl got braces. (Also pictured in the photo, she got her Daddy's face.) &nbsp;There was a lot of excitement and anticipation in our home in the weeks leading up to the event - and the morning of the appointment she came down the stairs to breakfast and confessed, "I am so nervous. &nbsp;My stomach feels all weird - like butterflies." &nbsp;She handled the appointment like a champ, even though there were a few tense moments that were rather uncomfortable. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-M2XkIkJ3yW4/Vv3lVO-iSPI/AAAAAAAALtQ/pjMMMIt2sCUMEqOfBngDBD_qVDP9jEKUg/s1600/j155%2BKenzie%2527s%2BNew%2BBraces-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-M2XkIkJ3yW4/Vv3lVO-iSPI/AAAAAAAALtQ/pjMMMIt2sCUMEqOfBngDBD_qVDP9jEKUg/s640/j155%2BKenzie%2527s%2BNew%2BBraces-5.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Teek didn't know what to think about the whole situation. <br />"Hey, Ken-zee, what is doze sings on yohw teese?" (*What are those things on your teeth?*)<br />"Hmmmm.... I don't know, buddy. &nbsp;Can you guess?"<br />"Is dey gasses? &nbsp;Gasses on yohw teese?" (*Are they glasses? &nbsp;Glasses on your teeth?*)<br /><br /><b><br /></b><b>*Well, why not play cards in costume on a Wednesday?</b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GbpOGPazM40/Vv3lVd7jwVI/AAAAAAAALtM/pjEAcovjn1clSEIP-gegubODpA1Uls-Cg/s1600/j160%2BAwesome%2BMiles-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GbpOGPazM40/Vv3lVd7jwVI/AAAAAAAALtM/pjEAcovjn1clSEIP-gegubODpA1Uls-Cg/s640/j160%2BAwesome%2BMiles-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />This kid kills me. &nbsp;He is such a character.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8IO34JGD_bE/Vv3lVz0wnhI/AAAAAAAALtU/WGOUQsc1Ggg6aHVkor5PvaKtQz9rif9kw/s1600/j160%2BAwesome%2BMiles-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8IO34JGD_bE/Vv3lVz0wnhI/AAAAAAAALtU/WGOUQsc1Ggg6aHVkor5PvaKtQz9rif9kw/s640/j160%2BAwesome%2BMiles-3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />And so fun to have in this house. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vJapMkNQYJ0/Vv3lU2cIWZI/AAAAAAAALtE/5CYBQ0gQAVYWSgTb3ag8HvFus5tKiQigA/s1600/j160%2BAwesome%2BMiles-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vJapMkNQYJ0/Vv3lU2cIWZI/AAAAAAAALtE/5CYBQ0gQAVYWSgTb3ag8HvFus5tKiQigA/s640/j160%2BAwesome%2BMiles-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><b>*Feed them and they will come</b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6-_S-JH2_cw/Vv3pM42ymHI/AAAAAAAALt8/uK1N0OfNR8EFUds_9sweDuRqveAaXJNVw/s1600/j166%2BTable%2BFull%2Bof%2BKids-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6-_S-JH2_cw/Vv3pM42ymHI/AAAAAAAALt8/uK1N0OfNR8EFUds_9sweDuRqveAaXJNVw/s640/j166%2BTable%2BFull%2Bof%2BKids-1.jpg" width="464" /></a></div><br />I may have mentioned this before, but this table full of kids is one of the reasons I LOVE living where I do. &nbsp;This was just a regular night, and when the neighbor kids found out we were having waffles, they stayed. &nbsp;It made me want to make waffles every. single. night. (Who are we kidding? &nbsp;I want to make waffles every single night anyway.) &nbsp;A table full of happiness.<br /><br /><b>*Guess who has two thumbs and signed up for a 70 mile bike race.</b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pXSkXsHW-V4/Vv3pMzp0UgI/AAAAAAAALt4/r-UL9UvGLQw6IIWQ5NOccrT6p7GrjdErw/s1600/j167%2BMe-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pXSkXsHW-V4/Vv3pMzp0UgI/AAAAAAAALt4/r-UL9UvGLQw6IIWQ5NOccrT6p7GrjdErw/s640/j167%2BMe-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />This girl! &nbsp;Here I am after my first bike ride - that's how you know I'm telling the truth. &nbsp;The girls in the neighborhood took me out on a 20 mile ride one Saturday morning and I fell in love with it. &nbsp;Here's to hoping that I actually have 70 miles of leg power in my legs. Go legs!<br /><br /><b>*Guess who has two thumbs and knows how to open up a bottle full of sprinkles.</b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hjUnuGZvm50/Vv3q7ypZwxI/AAAAAAAALu4/gJrbd0uKP9E_5KfF4AMQ_VAoIW-JSrvww/s1600/j173%2BDid%2Byou%2Beat%2Bthe%2Bsprinkles--1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hjUnuGZvm50/Vv3q7ypZwxI/AAAAAAAALu4/gJrbd0uKP9E_5KfF4AMQ_VAoIW-JSrvww/s640/j173%2BDid%2Byou%2Beat%2Bthe%2Bsprinkles--1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />"Can I has a cookie?!"<br />"No, not this morning."<br />"Can I has a jelly bean?!"<br />"No, buddy. &nbsp;No candy this morning."<br />"Can I has some sprinkles?"<br />"I know you want some, Teek, but no sugar this morning."<br />It was the morning after McKenzie's birthday, and all the sugar was still just sitting around. &nbsp;What's a boy to do when his mom turns her back for a minute? <br />"TK, did you get into the sprinkles?"<br />That Face. The one up there. That melts my heart every time I look at it. Staring back at me. Hoping he's not in trouble. &nbsp;Slowly nodding his head, truthfully responding to my question. &nbsp;What's a mom to do? &nbsp;Hug him and kiss him and praise him for his honesty, then tell him about the importance of obedience while cutting him a giant piece of cake, that's what.Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150657897645335754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19344949.post-26576905768748381592016-04-08T19:15:00.000-07:002016-04-08T19:15:02.474-07:00May I have this... dance?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iVlwGsjsOEQ/Vv3sa3ZFw3I/AAAAAAAALwA/EhoFuTsMlJAp-DnJEpS26b231trTUxpZw/s1600/j178%2BFirst%2BMutual%2BActivity%2B-%2BA%2BDANCE%2521--4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iVlwGsjsOEQ/Vv3sa3ZFw3I/AAAAAAAALwA/EhoFuTsMlJAp-DnJEpS26b231trTUxpZw/s640/j178%2BFirst%2BMutual%2BActivity%2B-%2BA%2BDANCE%2521--4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />"Is McKenzie going to the dance tonight?" &nbsp;It was an innocent question posed by my neighbor, a question that was intended to provide just a small bit of information, a simple question that required nothing more than a 'yes' or 'no'. &nbsp;But my answer froze in my throat as the gravity of that question hit me. <br /><br />McKenzie had JUST turned twelve less than a week earlier, and the very first YW activity she was invited to happened to be a stake dance. &nbsp;Usually (in fact, before this event I would have said <i>always</i>), the youth dances are held for all youth 14 years of age or older. &nbsp;So even though McKenzie had just aged into YW, I hadn't even started to process the idea of her going to the dances quite yet.<br /><br />"Uh, yes... she is," I finally croaked out.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GBnt65Q66Gw/Vv3sa4ovJCI/AAAAAAAALv0/5bxWmCK8rY0VbRp98rahgOXMTmbq1z-FQ/s1600/j178%2BFirst%2BMutual%2BActivity%2B-%2BA%2BDANCE%2521--3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GBnt65Q66Gw/Vv3sa4ovJCI/AAAAAAAALv0/5bxWmCK8rY0VbRp98rahgOXMTmbq1z-FQ/s640/j178%2BFirst%2BMutual%2BActivity%2B-%2BA%2BDANCE%2521--3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />A week before, McKenzie had come to me as I was working in the kitchen and asked, "Mom, what do I do if a boy asks me to dance?" &nbsp;My eyebrows shot up in a look of You-Caught-Me-A-Little-Off-Guard surprise before I recovered and answered her question.<br /><br />"Well," I began, turning to her with a smile. &nbsp;"You say 'yes'. &nbsp;You always say yes if a nice boy asks you to dance. &nbsp;Think about how much courage it would take for you to ask a boy to dance! &nbsp;So, if a boy has enough courage to come up and ask you to dance, make sure you respect his courage. &nbsp;And then, you just kind of slowly spin in a little circle, like this, and you try to make him feel very comfortable and happy that he asked you in the first place. &nbsp;Ask him questions and listen to his answers, and then at the end of the dance make sure to thank him." &nbsp;I put a calm smile on my face even though my insides were screaming at the injustice of Growing Up and continued, "but... I really don't think you have to worry about that right now. Those twelve year old boys are just as scared of you as you are of them and I doubt any of them will be asking girls to dance. &nbsp;So, the <i>best</i>&nbsp;part of the dance is just hanging out and being silly with your girlfriends."<br /><br />"Yeah..." she laughed in response. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NDQU07qHuvE/Vv3sa6MEM9I/AAAAAAAALv4/cPpeXJ9p6GocEyuBkUMIlGaVJE8YB17kg/s1600/j178%2BFirst%2BMutual%2BActivity%2B-%2BA%2BDANCE%2521--2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NDQU07qHuvE/Vv3sa6MEM9I/AAAAAAAALv4/cPpeXJ9p6GocEyuBkUMIlGaVJE8YB17kg/s640/j178%2BFirst%2BMutual%2BActivity%2B-%2BA%2BDANCE%2521--2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>She came f.l.o.a.t.i.n.g. in the door at 8:30pm the night after the dance. &nbsp;She had had a wonderful time. &nbsp;"So, you were wrong, Mom," she said with a smile on her face. &nbsp;"I got asked to dance <i>twice</i>."<br /><br />"Wait, you <i>did?!</i>" I asked, a little too surprised. &nbsp;"You said, 'no, I'm way too young,' right?!"<br />"Nope," she replied with a little teasing lilt. "I did what my mother told me... always say yes."<br /><br />We lay in her bed that night, side by side, and talked about the whole evening. About her girlfriends. About Cute Boy. &nbsp;About the three slow songs, and about the awkwardness she felt in being the only girl in her circle to be asked to dance. <br /><br />Anyway, the point of this post is really that I fell asleep that night, and many nights following, not sure that I had made all of the right parenting decisions. &nbsp;I kind of think I maybe should have said no to the dance altogether? She's so young, and while dances and flirty feelings are fun and appropriate at times, I'd rather her not have been introduced to them quite this early. &nbsp;Or, instead of saying 'always say yes' to a boy who asks you to dance, I maybe should have added the disclaimer that you should never say yes if you feel truly uncomfortable. &nbsp;During our debriefing of the night maybe I should have given a little more attention to the topic of Cute Boy. Or maybe less.<br /><br />They were right, all those people who told me that parenting gets harder.<br /><br />Valentines day was a few days later, and McKenzie came home from school cradling a paper and plastic rose from the 99 cent store that had been given to her by Cute Boy. &nbsp;We put it in a vase and stuck it by the window for a couple of days and I wondered, again, about <i>my</i>&nbsp;role in all of this. &nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q-apdnkH56U/Vv3sbT3Ve2I/AAAAAAAALv8/TelqULg2A-U7_rnxTEUudfUKvspQKjgXA/s1600/j181%2BMcKenzie%2527s%2BFirst%2BLove-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q-apdnkH56U/Vv3sbT3Ve2I/AAAAAAAALv8/TelqULg2A-U7_rnxTEUudfUKvspQKjgXA/s640/j181%2BMcKenzie%2527s%2BFirst%2BLove-1.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I think my role is to teach her to be wise. &nbsp;Teach her to be kind. &nbsp;Teach her to be joyful. &nbsp;Teach her to listen for, to follow, and to obey the quiet promptings of the spirit. <br /><br />The Spirit.<br /><br />That's the answer. &nbsp;Isn't it. Because he will teach her what I can't. &nbsp;He will see the dangers more clearly than I ever will. &nbsp;And he will be there, warning and guiding and confirming and comforting her all along the way.<br /><br />And.<br /><br />I think my role is to remember to be wise. &nbsp;Remember to be kind. &nbsp;Remember to be joyful. Remember to listen for, to follow and to obey the quiet promptings of the Spirit. &nbsp;The Spirit is always the answer. Because I know he will teach me what I need to know. &nbsp;He will see the dangers more clearly than I ever will. &nbsp;And he will be there, warning and guiding and confirming and comforting me all along the way.<br /><br />One thing's for sure - I'm so grateful I have McKenzie to teach me about this. &nbsp;I have a feeling this will not be the last time I lie awake wondering if I made the right parenting choices. &nbsp;Seeing my own flaws and mistakes affect the life of one of my children has always been a terribly humbling and painful experience - but I have faith that McKenzie will be able to succeed in spite of all of my flaws, and I have faith that I can be helped to overcome those flaws, all through the atonement of Jesus Christ. <br /><br />The further I get along in this parenting gig, the more I start to wonder whether parenting is more for the children, or for the parents.</div>Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150657897645335754noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19344949.post-54786351685089646372016-04-07T15:24:00.000-07:002016-04-07T15:24:14.007-07:00Lake Mead<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lTeZiH473hc/Vv3rg-d0OYI/AAAAAAAALvA/r-yGfz4dbg8AmQNNkQg-xq3xccFtP6elw/s1600/j175%2BLake%2BMead-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lTeZiH473hc/Vv3rg-d0OYI/AAAAAAAALvA/r-yGfz4dbg8AmQNNkQg-xq3xccFtP6elw/s640/j175%2BLake%2BMead-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />The Lake Mead Marina has become one of our favorite spots.<br /><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9BQX521A6E0/Vv3riD-A6SI/AAAAAAAALvY/ikwQx9xgICE6O98k6c4mTaJ2xbZJtghcQ/s1600/j175%2BLake%2BMead-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9BQX521A6E0/Vv3riD-A6SI/AAAAAAAALvY/ikwQx9xgICE6O98k6c4mTaJ2xbZJtghcQ/s640/j175%2BLake%2BMead-3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We took Grandma and Grandpa there on their last visit to feed the fish and the ducks and the seagulls, and it was a most beautiful day.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UJJwrnGJ-OU/Vv3rieRL2UI/AAAAAAAALvg/BeEX6m-x4IYTHcqsFSdKKIUtfRRh2_iIQ/s1600/j175%2BLake%2BMead-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UJJwrnGJ-OU/Vv3rieRL2UI/AAAAAAAALvg/BeEX6m-x4IYTHcqsFSdKKIUtfRRh2_iIQ/s640/j175%2BLake%2BMead-4.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I couldn't get over the shadows that the sun was casting.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SwYebJSFrFo/Vv3riniODuI/AAAAAAAALvk/C0ok6VGy3zYRzjow8toFQYg2U_82VXDmg/s1600/j175%2BLake%2BMead-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SwYebJSFrFo/Vv3riniODuI/AAAAAAAALvk/C0ok6VGy3zYRzjow8toFQYg2U_82VXDmg/s640/j175%2BLake%2BMead-5.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Something about watching Timothy's shadow get longer and longer throughout the afternoon pricked my heart. &nbsp;I could almost <i>see</i>&nbsp;it growing... and I realized that he was growing almost as fast. &nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YclUNR89MmA/Vv3rg8toEcI/AAAAAAAALvI/AhvPBRAtITgQ9wLcnU-S1gl53PlBkjQlw/s1600/j175%2BLake%2BMead-14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YclUNR89MmA/Vv3rg8toEcI/AAAAAAAALvI/AhvPBRAtITgQ9wLcnU-S1gl53PlBkjQlw/s640/j175%2BLake%2BMead-14.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The light was beautiful that afternoon.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yz4pwyqCUvs/Vv3rgxGkJQI/AAAAAAAALvE/uGJWc2_xq0YsAKj85eFLkSu6b-b45_fng/s1600/j175%2BLake%2BMead-12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yz4pwyqCUvs/Vv3rgxGkJQI/AAAAAAAALvE/uGJWc2_xq0YsAKj85eFLkSu6b-b45_fng/s640/j175%2BLake%2BMead-12.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>And my kids were happy.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_6M5dpbNjfI/Vv3rhgCHS2I/AAAAAAAALvQ/Zp2OXOXXJsAtwAAXytZJZeORXkMJLJQsQ/s1600/j175%2BLake%2BMead-18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_6M5dpbNjfI/Vv3rhgCHS2I/AAAAAAAALvQ/Zp2OXOXXJsAtwAAXytZJZeORXkMJLJQsQ/s640/j175%2BLake%2BMead-18.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The lake was a beautiful blue and I kind of love this selfie that came out of it.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ChEvS9tTwxc/Vv3rhzSUrkI/AAAAAAAALvU/8mv9R8Sb8sgt4OaGRJgLQk0645sm9GF6A/s1600/j175%2BLake%2BMead-19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ChEvS9tTwxc/Vv3rhzSUrkI/AAAAAAAALvU/8mv9R8Sb8sgt4OaGRJgLQk0645sm9GF6A/s640/j175%2BLake%2BMead-19.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>It was an afternoon of Beauty.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sIoUAV7agy8/Vv3rh4o76ZI/AAAAAAAALvc/8deIrVkSuwEaPWqRervpdV-G7C1l_7g2g/s1600/j175%2BLake%2BMead-20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sIoUAV7agy8/Vv3rh4o76ZI/AAAAAAAALvc/8deIrVkSuwEaPWqRervpdV-G7C1l_7g2g/s640/j175%2BLake%2BMead-20.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />It was an afternoon of Happy.</div>Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150657897645335754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19344949.post-7451270108616788412016-04-01T21:05:00.000-07:002016-04-01T21:05:21.052-07:00Dribble, Dribble, Dribble, Shoot!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fQJsKbV47UA/Vv3qGXGw5RI/AAAAAAAALuM/_iAZIZfEM0AkF22514acRjatjYSZHcbkQ/s1600/j161%2BBasketball-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fQJsKbV47UA/Vv3qGXGw5RI/AAAAAAAALuM/_iAZIZfEM0AkF22514acRjatjYSZHcbkQ/s640/j161%2BBasketball-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>Basketball is kind of taking over our lives. &nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uGAhjrCJVD4/Vv3qJT2PXQI/AAAAAAAALuU/LSh8S-kTWFIxSUaWNOnXbFS61vKhGT8_A/s1600/j161%2BBasketball-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uGAhjrCJVD4/Vv3qJT2PXQI/AAAAAAAALuU/LSh8S-kTWFIxSUaWNOnXbFS61vKhGT8_A/s640/j161%2BBasketball-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We signed both Carson and McKenzie up to play on the rec teams this year, and it ended up swallowing us whole. &nbsp;Two weeknights a week, they said... I was okaaaaaay with that, though it certainly was on the verge of being Too Much. &nbsp;Is anyone else as protective of their evenings? &nbsp;They are so very precious to me, I hate to fill them with Things.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a2EHzQ1Lkm0/Vv3qKg6i1lI/AAAAAAAALuk/6D7qV8e3FvwZsHSmhuMsoLH-D8-ZKZo2Q/s1600/j168%2BBasketball-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a2EHzQ1Lkm0/Vv3qKg6i1lI/AAAAAAAALuk/6D7qV8e3FvwZsHSmhuMsoLH-D8-ZKZo2Q/s640/j168%2BBasketball-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>But, in the name of Recreation is Important, Too, we signed away our Tuesday and Thursday nights to spend them at the rec center with Carson, cheering him on. &nbsp;I was so proud of how hard he worked. &nbsp;And I was so impressed by how much he improved during the short season. &nbsp;That boy learned how to hustle! &nbsp;And, two nights really wasn't that bad.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ylOmtdER40M/Vv3qK5YRKjI/AAAAAAAALuw/HswVlL32ue8yYPoyLbTr6luFo1HCm6TUA/s1600/j168%2BBasketball-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ylOmtdER40M/Vv3qK5YRKjI/AAAAAAAALuw/HswVlL32ue8yYPoyLbTr6luFo1HCm6TUA/s640/j168%2BBasketball-4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>What I didn't realize when I signed them up was that McKenzie's two nights would not line up with Carson's two nights.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-g6liduNdS3k/Vv3qJShVVlI/AAAAAAAALuQ/1O9pdIXiTzI4akHZOMX5nW7J_ESpEGeJQ/s1600/j161%2BBasketball-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-g6liduNdS3k/Vv3qJShVVlI/AAAAAAAALuQ/1O9pdIXiTzI4akHZOMX5nW7J_ESpEGeJQ/s640/j161%2BBasketball-3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>So every Monday and Wednesday night we were found at the rec center cheering <i>her</i> on. &nbsp;Which, in case you weren't paying attention, meant that every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday night had me sitting in the bleachers cheering my heart out for one or the other awesome kid. &nbsp;Not cheering my heart right out <i>loud</i> always, but always cheering.<br /><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--y_0hkksXys/Vv3qLIA_MWI/AAAAAAAALuo/xdgh4js8hww2GJlcs3oqIpYzKqkeCclwQ/s1600/j168%2BBasketball-9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--y_0hkksXys/Vv3qLIA_MWI/AAAAAAAALuo/xdgh4js8hww2GJlcs3oqIpYzKqkeCclwQ/s640/j168%2BBasketball-9.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Turns out that McKenzie is quite the great defender. &nbsp;That girl could move across the court, I tell you. &nbsp;She worked her tail off and absorbed all of her coach's instructions. <br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ONIwgMbn9HU/Vv3qKai17FI/AAAAAAAALug/OXBxi6ggJysAwQ98G3j3CYYh6NNL5cvdw/s1600/j168%2BBasketball-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ONIwgMbn9HU/Vv3qKai17FI/AAAAAAAALug/OXBxi6ggJysAwQ98G3j3CYYh6NNL5cvdw/s640/j168%2BBasketball-10.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />Sorry, ladies. &nbsp;This coach is taken.</div><div><br />Kenz took her games very seriously, and I was proud of her.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IdfmBHshCD8/Vv3qLPf6-BI/AAAAAAAALus/gsxAVvme18kDHNnQ_ZXtiuLDKZhguN8Bw/s1600/j172%2BMcKenzie%2527s%2B12th%2BBirthday-35.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IdfmBHshCD8/Vv3qLPf6-BI/AAAAAAAALus/gsxAVvme18kDHNnQ_ZXtiuLDKZhguN8Bw/s640/j172%2BMcKenzie%2527s%2B12th%2BBirthday-35.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />Those boys up in that doorway up there? &nbsp;Love it.</div><div><br />And Miles?</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bnPud6zvICw/Vv3qJXi5wpI/AAAAAAAALuY/s5RjlCA1K84WJ0wLLS1cgkIsrckgKpBfw/s1600/j161%2BBasketball-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bnPud6zvICw/Vv3qJXi5wpI/AAAAAAAALuY/s5RjlCA1K84WJ0wLLS1cgkIsrckgKpBfw/s640/j161%2BBasketball-5.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Well, he was a bit angry most of the time that he was too young to play. &nbsp;He would sit on the bleachers with his arms folded and his eyebrows turned down in a scowl muttering 'It's not fair' six hundred and forty eight times per game. &nbsp;Sorry, bud. &nbsp;I learned that encouraging him to be happy for his siblings was not effective... but when I suggested that he use this time on the bleachers to study the game and get pointers for himself, he took that to heart. &nbsp;This boy <i>loves</i> basketball. &nbsp;You will find him out on the court behind our house every afternoon, by himself, shooting and dribbling. &nbsp;He's on track to be tall, too. &nbsp;We'll see where this current passion takes him.<br /><br />And Timothy?</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pl_m0D_75S4/Vv3qKOpQ5RI/AAAAAAAALuc/TvBg-CpRhikffFrirK2pVCruwbOLKBElg/s1600/j164%2BTK%2527s%2Bnew%2Btrick-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pl_m0D_75S4/Vv3qKOpQ5RI/AAAAAAAALuc/TvBg-CpRhikffFrirK2pVCruwbOLKBElg/s640/j164%2BTK%2527s%2Bnew%2Btrick-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Well, he spent the time in the bleachers perfecting tricks of his own.</div><div><br /></div>Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150657897645335754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19344949.post-11318659780445046852016-03-31T20:01:00.001-07:002016-03-31T20:43:31.278-07:00Three<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ElMpfEpUoLE/Vs01QpJTduI/AAAAAAAALoE/WHyT8WHTW1c/s1600/IMG_3806.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ElMpfEpUoLE/Vs01QpJTduI/AAAAAAAALoE/WHyT8WHTW1c/s640/IMG_3806.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>Can we take a moment and talk about the cutest three year old ever? &nbsp;Everything about this boy makes my heart sing. &nbsp;He turned three a couple of months ago and sifting through all these pictures has made. my. night.<br /><br />Days like these are the days old people talk about when they say, "write it down... you think you'll remember, but you will not. &nbsp;You will forget."<br /><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-chCJzldE5Qw/Vs08YrWJ9SI/AAAAAAAALpg/daiox3BduFo/s1600/Blog18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-chCJzldE5Qw/Vs08YrWJ9SI/AAAAAAAALpg/daiox3BduFo/s640/Blog18.jpg" width="640" /></a></div></div><div><br />It's hard to imagine that I could ever forget this boy on his third birthday... but then I think about Kenzie's third birthday and... hm. &nbsp;I hope I have that recorded in a journal somewhere because blogging didn't exist for me back then.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-suZXMnAYnls/Vs08Yq5DjCI/AAAAAAAALpc/QeSn7XtttQw/s1600/Blog17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-suZXMnAYnls/Vs08Yq5DjCI/AAAAAAAALpc/QeSn7XtttQw/s640/Blog17.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />He picked his own letter toy out a couple of weeks before his birthday. &nbsp;I thought he'd forget about it by the time it donned the wrapping paper and masqueraded among the other toys dressed the same. &nbsp;But I was wrong. &nbsp;"Dat's my new letters toy!" he said pointing to the correct parcel. &nbsp;Busted. <br /><br />The Timothy train was quite the hit, though. "It's ME! &nbsp;Dis is a ME train!" &nbsp;Hard to imagine I'll ever forget that I'm-So-Special smile...<br /><br />After morning presents, we waved goodbye to Daddy and 'duh kids' as they headed out into the wide world for their day-jobs. &nbsp;And then we played. &nbsp;All. Day. Long. &nbsp;Sometimes I can't believe how lucky I am to have MY day job.<br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GRbiA0hUGh0/Vs08lecIeBI/AAAAAAAALp0/Ax7cxVpWeeA/s1600/IMG_3786.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GRbiA0hUGh0/Vs08lecIeBI/AAAAAAAALp0/Ax7cxVpWeeA/s640/IMG_3786.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />A quick little photo shoot (super quick because, remember, he's only three and has the attention span of a gnat) in which I spent the precious time trying to find good light. &nbsp;Whew - I'm out of practice - and he was not real great at being patient with me.<br /><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KZE9asKuOIk/Vs08luEyBbI/AAAAAAAALp4/bAUm-_7AF4g/s1600/IMG_3797.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KZE9asKuOIk/Vs08luEyBbI/AAAAAAAALp4/bAUm-_7AF4g/s640/IMG_3797.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />But I got him talking to me and we had one little sequence that was absolutely hilarious and went just like this:<br /><br />Hey TK?!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7IiLod4MwSA/Vs08nPnQMRI/AAAAAAAALqQ/-mkw1ucrTvs/s1600/IMG_3819.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7IiLod4MwSA/Vs08nPnQMRI/AAAAAAAALqQ/-mkw1ucrTvs/s640/IMG_3819.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>How old are you today, Buddy?!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rY9HtRvzgKI/Vs08mI4j76I/AAAAAAAALp8/G7GQjjj_bmQ/s1600/IMG_3810.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rY9HtRvzgKI/Vs08mI4j76I/AAAAAAAALp8/G7GQjjj_bmQ/s640/IMG_3810.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />Wait... are those THREE fingers!? &nbsp;Wow, you are getting so big! &nbsp;Show me again. <br /><br />Waaaiiiiit a minute... THAT doesn't look like three fingers!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6wbhTyktGyY/Vs08mTH6jbI/AAAAAAAALqE/VuHm01mcaAg/s1600/IMG_3813.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6wbhTyktGyY/Vs08mTH6jbI/AAAAAAAALqE/VuHm01mcaAg/s640/IMG_3813.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Show me how old you are! &nbsp;Waaaaiiiiiit a minute...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nRmZPagWV58/Vs08mqpJgjI/AAAAAAAALqI/kaaRltVxGpk/s1600/IMG_3814.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nRmZPagWV58/Vs08mqpJgjI/AAAAAAAALqI/kaaRltVxGpk/s640/IMG_3814.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Is that FOUR fingers? &nbsp;You are crazy!!!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_BhWICBLxaw/Vs08moelBHI/AAAAAAAALqM/tV42J2yX9l4/s1600/IMG_3817.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_BhWICBLxaw/Vs08moelBHI/AAAAAAAALqM/tV42J2yX9l4/s640/IMG_3817.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>See. &nbsp;I told you it was hilarious.<br /><br />After our morning minute of comedy, we jumped into the car in pursuit of a free chocolate sample at the Ethel M. Chocolate Factory.<br /><br />It was the right decision. &nbsp;The cutest grandma was working the counter, and when she found out it was Teek's birthday, boy, did she make it a deal! &nbsp;She gave him not one, but three chocolate samples, a straw, a picture book (read: an ad for their delicious chocolate), a little bag in which to put it all, and a spoonful of whipped cream to stick right. into. his mouth.<br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KFI3Wejsr4A/Vs09W07ZiGI/AAAAAAAALqw/OfPOavveZdw/s1600/Blog19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="576" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KFI3Wejsr4A/Vs09W07ZiGI/AAAAAAAALqw/OfPOavveZdw/s640/Blog19.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />I ordered a Chocolate Sensation for us to share on the recommendation of the Cutest Grandma and, honestly, after one sip I kinda wanted the whole thing for myself... but then that beautiful face looked up at me with those birthday eyes and I was a goner. <br />"Mama? &nbsp;Can woo sare dat wis me?"<br />"Absolutely, Teek! &nbsp;That's why I got it, to share with you."<br />"Oh! &nbsp;Tank you for dat! &nbsp;Tank you for saring dis wis me!"<br />Sometimes he feels like my very best friend in the whole world.<br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iZ81FWQ0GzQ/Vs08k1sP3nI/AAAAAAAALpo/w_r0wtqOSzY/s1600/20160209_105853-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iZ81FWQ0GzQ/Vs08k1sP3nI/AAAAAAAALpo/w_r0wtqOSzY/s640/20160209_105853-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We walked around the cactus gardens and talked about how each one was "pokey". Each. one.<br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-997KJn2Ex9M/Vs08nT4qKJI/AAAAAAAALqU/QS5LpUi0qno/s1600/IMG_3832.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-997KJn2Ex9M/Vs08nT4qKJI/AAAAAAAALqU/QS5LpUi0qno/s640/IMG_3832.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div><br />But I didn't mind the repetition. &nbsp;I had my chocolate sensation, after all. &nbsp;And this beautiful face to look at.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PN15Umrok9s/Vs08oHheIlI/AAAAAAAALqg/zZbrqx38LTU/s1600/IMG_3864.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PN15Umrok9s/Vs08oHheIlI/AAAAAAAALqg/zZbrqx38LTU/s640/IMG_3864.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/--CMhO4VDOv4/Vs08oankGOI/AAAAAAAALqk/Q778qJzXsG8/s1600/IMG_3866.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/--CMhO4VDOv4/Vs08oankGOI/AAAAAAAALqk/Q778qJzXsG8/s640/IMG_3866.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />There was one unfortunate moment when he jumped purposefully onto my camera and I did not react kindly. &nbsp;Sorry bud.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N16L7WR3BLk/Vs08npf-lMI/AAAAAAAALqY/WtIZA-n222Y/s1600/IMG_3842.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N16L7WR3BLk/Vs08npf-lMI/AAAAAAAALqY/WtIZA-n222Y/s640/IMG_3842.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EQ6-bbxnQOY/Vs08nyNA1GI/AAAAAAAALqc/IXUmkhbU0jU/s1600/IMG_3843.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EQ6-bbxnQOY/Vs08nyNA1GI/AAAAAAAALqc/IXUmkhbU0jU/s640/IMG_3843.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>He has the sweetest heart and I do try very hard to treat him kindly always because it's just so devastating to him when I don't. <br /><br />But he got over it quickly enough. &nbsp;A lesson in forgiveness for sure. &nbsp;Hopefully my sharp reaction was a lesson in Don't Jump On My Camera.<br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sGhNowKh2YM/Vs08ovYf7VI/AAAAAAAALqo/eva6Q8luBLE/s1600/IMG_3881.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sGhNowKh2YM/Vs08ovYf7VI/AAAAAAAALqo/eva6Q8luBLE/s640/IMG_3881.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div><br />Next stop - McDonalds for chicken nuggets. &nbsp;How he can be so stinkin' cute just waiting for nuggets is beyond me.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BhWNZ3QhIv8/Vs08k5U3woI/AAAAAAAALpw/uLBlmQuMam4/s1600/20160209_120213-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BhWNZ3QhIv8/Vs08k5U3woI/AAAAAAAALpw/uLBlmQuMam4/s640/20160209_120213-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The kids and Daddy eventually made their ways back home and we had delicious cup cakes smothered in green frosting and sprinkles. &nbsp;I reeeeeeeally outdid myself with this one.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TnTrGu8cRfY/Vv3kSqO4BOI/AAAAAAAALs8/Q2k_jKboFMIZVDgsa_E4Jhmz0VKMxTRwA/s1600/Blog20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TnTrGu8cRfY/Vv3kSqO4BOI/AAAAAAAALs8/Q2k_jKboFMIZVDgsa_E4Jhmz0VKMxTRwA/s640/Blog20.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>Happy birthday, friend. &nbsp;We sure love having you around.</div>Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150657897645335754noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19344949.post-88923176099759898112016-03-16T21:11:00.001-07:002016-03-16T21:11:53.699-07:00Circles of Understanding<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BGrY67eXjCQ/Vs0vV4ErMKI/AAAAAAAALlI/7pV65_fbBxM/s1600/20160218_103346-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BGrY67eXjCQ/Vs0vV4ErMKI/AAAAAAAALlI/7pV65_fbBxM/s640/20160218_103346-2.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><br />I love moments where I see a connection happening between one of my parents and one of my children. &nbsp;I'm so lucky to be sandwiched in between such great people.<br /><br />My parents came down for a quick visit, so Timothy and I took them to the Hoover Dam (since, you know, that's kind of what you <i>do</i>&nbsp;in Boulder City).<br /><br /><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5cx2BB9dH-g/Vs0vWJqR1SI/AAAAAAAALlE/mq_MkiuTdqo/s1600/20160218_115652-2.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5cx2BB9dH-g/Vs0vWJqR1SI/AAAAAAAALlE/mq_MkiuTdqo/s640/20160218_115652-2.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-L5Q22dqeQac/Vs0vWE7fZZI/AAAAAAAALlA/BGGicS2yiUM/s1600/20160218_121012-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-L5Q22dqeQac/Vs0vWE7fZZI/AAAAAAAALlA/BGGicS2yiUM/s640/20160218_121012-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wZReyaEHi1I/Vs0vW3cgpyI/AAAAAAAALlM/05BUHL6gDNU/s1600/20160218_124135_001-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wZReyaEHi1I/Vs0vW3cgpyI/AAAAAAAALlM/05BUHL6gDNU/s640/20160218_124135_001-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div><div>Did you know that if you slowly dump water out of a water bottle over the dam that the water will fly up and hit you in the face? &nbsp;It's true. We did it.<br /><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XgsLCWbebuQ/Vs0vXLhCXOI/AAAAAAAALlQ/53Po2DcZ5YY/s1600/20160218_124250-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XgsLCWbebuQ/Vs0vXLhCXOI/AAAAAAAALlQ/53Po2DcZ5YY/s640/20160218_124250-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9byMZGkx7-s/Vs0vXD03IhI/AAAAAAAALlU/KCwRbxgQtjI/s1600/20160218_124627-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9byMZGkx7-s/Vs0vXD03IhI/AAAAAAAALlU/KCwRbxgQtjI/s640/20160218_124627-2.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><br /></div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jc65f-R1MJY/Vs0vXfNGlrI/AAAAAAAALlc/aMFNq1N7R1I/s1600/20160218_145147-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jc65f-R1MJY/Vs0vXfNGlrI/AAAAAAAALlc/aMFNq1N7R1I/s640/20160218_145147-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />I also love moments when my parents teach me something... like that those weird giant stabber things sitting next to the grill when we moved in were actually rotisserie hooks, and that you can buy whole chickens in regular grocery stores and cook them on your own grill Costco Rotisserie Chicken style. &nbsp; None of us had done it before, but it was a.m.a.z.i.n.g! &nbsp;So juicy and flavorful! &nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qXUBS8dnVTI/Vs0vXnS15oI/AAAAAAAALlY/yd-Q-GBmn-k/s1600/20160218_164609-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qXUBS8dnVTI/Vs0vXnS15oI/AAAAAAAALlY/yd-Q-GBmn-k/s640/20160218_164609-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />We let the kids have the chicken for dinner that night and we adults hopped into my dad's spiffy convertible to travel down to the strip for dinner and a show.<br /><br />Brian and I had fun with my parents, and we came home happy and full to a quiet, clean house. I felt blessed for two reasons: first, that I have such wonderful parents that I enjoy spending time with, and second, that I have such wonderful kids who are happy and willing to let us go for an evening. &nbsp;The kids had had fun... they made dinner, ate dessert, watched movies, and cleaned everything up. &nbsp;McKenzie put all three boys to bed and then climbed into bed herself to read until she, too, fell fast asleep.<br /><br />I remember those nights when I was a 12-year-old drifting to sleep in my bed after an evening of babysitting. I remember drifting back into consciousness - just a little - when my mother, back from her evening out, opened my bedroom door and tiptoed across the room... &nbsp;I remember the smell of Party on her as she bent to kiss my cheek - fresh make-up, hairspray, fabric softener, a dab of perfume... &nbsp;I remember the feeling of love I felt towards her in that half-conscious state, happy she had gone to have a good time, and happy she was back.<br /><br />I never even thought to wonder about what <i>she</i> felt in those dark, quiet moments...<br /><br />I'm so proud of McKenzie. I opened her bedroom door and tiptoed across the room. &nbsp;I watched her sleep for a moment and marveled at the young woman she is becoming. &nbsp;I noticed the smell of Party on her as I bent to kiss her cheek - sweat, dirty hair, mac 'n' cheese, rotisserie chicken... &nbsp;I was so full of love and appreciation, happy to have gone to have a good time, and so very happy to be back.<br /><br />The next morning, my parents drove away while Timothy and I stood in the driveway waving good bye. &nbsp;I paid attention to the way my heart pulled for them to come back - just for a moment - while their car got smaller and smaller. &nbsp;I noticed the happy feelings in my heart that lingered long after they had disappeared, and I noticed the gratitude I felt that they had taken the time to come.<br /><br />This time I thought to wonder about what <i>they</i>&nbsp;felt.<br /><br />Someday, when McKenzie stands with her child and waves goodbye to me, maybe I'll know. <br /><br />Timothy and I walked back inside the house and threw our efforts into packing the family for our ski trip, and a few hours later we were ready to roll. &nbsp;But thankfully, very thankfully, before we rolled out for the weekend I found that the children had stored the delicious leftover rotisserie chicken carcass from the night before safely in the microwave.</div>Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150657897645335754noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19344949.post-22977086897104678742016-03-13T16:31:00.000-07:002016-03-13T16:31:31.487-07:00San Francisco<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hX40JRwLwQY/Vs0yoBo8M1I/AAAAAAAALmA/9GqCSMssxbA/s1600/20160213_172358-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hX40JRwLwQY/Vs0yoBo8M1I/AAAAAAAALmA/9GqCSMssxbA/s640/20160213_172358-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />For McKenzie's twelfth birthday, Brian and I gave her A Trip To San Francisco with just the three of us because we felt like it would solidify her impression of us being the Most Awesome. An impression I would like to have strengthened as she preps herself to enter into this land of teenagers who are too cool, ya know? &nbsp;We hired a young couple to come stay in our house and take care of the boys under simple instructions: As long as everyone is happy and alive when we get back, anything goes.<br /><br />Brian had to see a few patients at his clinic on Saturday morning before our plane took off, so McKenzie and I tagged along. &nbsp;I know Brian so well... I know what kind of a doctor he is, I know how he treats his patients, I know how much they love him. &nbsp;But <i>seeing</i>&nbsp;it? &nbsp;That was a pretty cool thing. &nbsp;McKenzie and I waited in the waiting room for the most part and listened to the patients tell us how much they loved Dr. Alder. &nbsp;<i>Of course you do,</i>&nbsp;I wanted to to say. &nbsp;<i>He's Brian.</i>&nbsp; But I didn't say that because that would have been awkward and presumptuous. &nbsp;So I just nodded along and agreed that he's a pretty great guy.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JAWSumq_JBg/Vs0ym5CYzmI/AAAAAAAALlw/_hRdO__A6h8/s1600/20160213_081004-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JAWSumq_JBg/Vs0ym5CYzmI/AAAAAAAALlw/_hRdO__A6h8/s640/20160213_081004-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>Also, his name is on the side of a building. &nbsp;I'm pretty sure that makes him some kind of famous.<br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YwlQpuPmIyw/Vs0ynsnVGuI/AAAAAAAALl4/c6KFVdHOiIs/s1600/20160213_114259-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YwlQpuPmIyw/Vs0ynsnVGuI/AAAAAAAALl4/c6KFVdHOiIs/s640/20160213_114259-2.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><div><br />Brian rushed through the patients that morning so we wouldn't miss our flight, but he needn't have. &nbsp;Turns out our plane was (and so we were) delayed for s.e.v.e.r.a.l. hours (3) before we finally got the idea to ask if we could fly out on a different plane. Yes? &nbsp;Hm. Wish we had done that earlier...<br /><br />But no biggie. We entertained ourselves by walking around to look at the butterflies hanging from the ceiling. &nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nApqcTQUZq8/Vs0ym6BzehI/AAAAAAAALls/7haBgJ9iWs0/s1600/20160213_113300-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nApqcTQUZq8/Vs0ym6BzehI/AAAAAAAALls/7haBgJ9iWs0/s640/20160213_113300-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cIKdZmb9Igo/Vs0ym2VhwEI/AAAAAAAALlo/zc9STq_nfMw/s1600/20160213_113503-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cIKdZmb9Igo/Vs0ym2VhwEI/AAAAAAAALlo/zc9STq_nfMw/s640/20160213_113503-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6k_AToa5uag/Vs0ynX1RpqI/AAAAAAAALl0/Y1KD8J2_YbU/s1600/20160213_113931-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6k_AToa5uag/Vs0ynX1RpqI/AAAAAAAALl0/Y1KD8J2_YbU/s640/20160213_113931-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Or, I should say McKenzie and I walked around... Brian suddenly crashed with a fever and spent the three hours sleeping on a bench. &nbsp;Terrible timing, really.<br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wEJ35iPJGYk/Vs0yn3GUTeI/AAAAAAAALl8/6bCWj8x8_Kk/s1600/20160213_132540-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wEJ35iPJGYk/Vs0yn3GUTeI/AAAAAAAALl8/6bCWj8x8_Kk/s640/20160213_132540-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Finally we were off!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HABkpgFRgWw/Vs0yoeZt0nI/AAAAAAAALmE/ws4kS9gRIJA/s1600/20160213_174151-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HABkpgFRgWw/Vs0yoeZt0nI/AAAAAAAALmE/ws4kS9gRIJA/s640/20160213_174151-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />We landed at the perfect time to stroll to our hotel through the sunset. &nbsp;Poor Brian was about to die, so we stopped in at a CVS and bought some Tylenol. &nbsp;He and McKenzie each had some because by this point, McKenzie had started to feel extra lethargic as well. &nbsp;Terrible timing, really.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UbqFIqx9m_0/Vs0yqbkhUBI/AAAAAAAALmk/zzvhJu64eNo/s1600/IMG_3914.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UbqFIqx9m_0/Vs0yqbkhUBI/AAAAAAAALmk/zzvhJu64eNo/s640/IMG_3914.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>But she was happy to jump on the bed for a minute anyway.<br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3zb_QkMuupw/Vs0yovnei5I/AAAAAAAALmI/Fu0uwtlhukM/s1600/20160213_191751-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3zb_QkMuupw/Vs0yovnei5I/AAAAAAAALmI/Fu0uwtlhukM/s640/20160213_191751-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>McKenzie and I almost left Brian back in the hotel room to rest while we went in search of food, but at the last minute he decided he wanted to join us. &nbsp;I was so impressed by his will to Be Present during this special vacation - even though he felt so awful. &nbsp;During the dinner, McKenzie fell further into her own slump of sickness. &nbsp;But, aside from feeling bad for the two of them, I had a delightful time. &nbsp;The Caramel Pizza was the cutest little pizza place with delicious (to Brian and me) and disgusting (to McKenzie) wood fired pizza.<br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BZzcH885Oxg/Vs0yo7mJJPI/AAAAAAAALmM/bu4YKLdDCXE/s1600/20160213_202805-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BZzcH885Oxg/Vs0yo7mJJPI/AAAAAAAALmM/bu4YKLdDCXE/s640/20160213_202805-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />On our way back to the hotel, we stopped in at Ghiradelli Square to get ourselves some chocolate. &nbsp;Brian decided it would be best for him to walk back to the hotel instead of to stop in for chocolate, and after he left McKenzie and I had some great girl talks about being twelve and the situations she might find herself in. &nbsp;We talked (a lot) about friends and (a little) about boys before Brian showed up again. &nbsp;"It gets a little dark on the way back," he informed us in his feverish state. &nbsp;"I didn't like the idea of you guys walking back alone." <br /><br />Love him.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kJMdGxyTJGw/Vs0ypNYdHaI/AAAAAAAALmQ/7lL6aW2rcEw/s1600/20160214_115025-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kJMdGxyTJGw/Vs0ypNYdHaI/AAAAAAAALmQ/7lL6aW2rcEw/s640/20160214_115025-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Hello to Brian and his double sized head! &nbsp;</div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hA71QzIXUic/Vs0ypCasbwI/AAAAAAAALmU/3yXgMfdMIxE/s1600/20160214_115115-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hA71QzIXUic/Vs0ypCasbwI/AAAAAAAALmU/3yXgMfdMIxE/s640/20160214_115115-2.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><div><br />The next day Brian was feeling better and McKenzie was feeling worse. Darn. &nbsp;So we took our our itinerary ideas and whittled them down into the things McKenzie most wanted to do. &nbsp;Alcatraz topped the list (whew, because we had already spent a lot of money on those tickets!) so we spent most of the day slowly exploring The Rock.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FG8nYdoF-uY/Vs0yqniKdYI/AAAAAAAALms/6P1pp-QgllI/s1600/IMG_3943.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FG8nYdoF-uY/Vs0yqniKdYI/AAAAAAAALms/6P1pp-QgllI/s640/IMG_3943.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7j1v0o4McwY/Vs0yq1iwRmI/AAAAAAAALmw/bbBjPKUQaNk/s1600/IMG_3944.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7j1v0o4McwY/Vs0yq1iwRmI/AAAAAAAALmw/bbBjPKUQaNk/s640/IMG_3944.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_KRHcyDOTfw/Vs0yrFkkzaI/AAAAAAAALm0/p7l32_oZXuA/s1600/IMG_3948.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_KRHcyDOTfw/Vs0yrFkkzaI/AAAAAAAALm0/p7l32_oZXuA/s640/IMG_3948.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />It was fantastic. &nbsp;I'd been a couple of times before, but taking McKenzie through it was the best. &nbsp;She was so intrigued and such a sponge... at the end she even bought a book written by a woman who was a resident teenager on the island during one of the most famous escape attempts. &nbsp;It was this that she wrote about and, as luck would have it, she was sitting in the bookstore signing copies. &nbsp;We talked to her for a few minutes and had her sign Kenzie's book.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uqcJbSzVdwo/Vs0yreMdcEI/AAAAAAAALm4/29dsB7VUqXc/s1600/IMG_3966.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uqcJbSzVdwo/Vs0yreMdcEI/AAAAAAAALm4/29dsB7VUqXc/s640/IMG_3966.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>After the tour we sat and chilled for a while - talking (Brian and me), reading (Kenzie), and waiting for our name to be called for dinner.<br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wq6klsPt8qM/Vs0ypmGSy2I/AAAAAAAALmY/Hr0bNl2i-xo/s1600/20160214_161615-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wq6klsPt8qM/Vs0ypmGSy2I/AAAAAAAALmY/Hr0bNl2i-xo/s640/20160214_161615-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The Fog Harbor Fish House had the most incredible crab sandwich I have ever eaten. &nbsp;Which isn't actually saying much because I'd never actually eaten one before. <br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hNBoYfxrlH0/Vs0yp28eLyI/AAAAAAAALmc/45y0kuRFdOE/s1600/20160214_170021-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hNBoYfxrlH0/Vs0yp28eLyI/AAAAAAAALmc/45y0kuRFdOE/s640/20160214_170021-2.jpg" width="456" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>McKenzie had a few bites of her salad and was done.<br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QF2ewe7Wmm0/Vs0yp9cssEI/AAAAAAAALmg/MeYQaLvcwrg/s1600/20160214_170059-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QF2ewe7Wmm0/Vs0yp9cssEI/AAAAAAAALmg/MeYQaLvcwrg/s640/20160214_170059-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>But even so, it was such a beautiful setting and I was with such beautiful people and eating such a deliciously beautiful crab sandwich that all was well. <br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f-HCzYK_560/Vs0yqEX8UdI/AAAAAAAALmo/zbG3sG5go6U/s1600/20160214_171148-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f-HCzYK_560/Vs0yqEX8UdI/AAAAAAAALmo/zbG3sG5go6U/s640/20160214_171148-2.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><div><br />McKenzie reeeeeeeeeally enjoyed the bubbles in her soda.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xZZa_C8Ot4U/Vs0yriCNnXI/AAAAAAAALm8/AFiNc_gkkhQ/s1600/IMG_3982.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xZZa_C8Ot4U/Vs0yriCNnXI/AAAAAAAALm8/AFiNc_gkkhQ/s640/IMG_3982.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div><br />After dinner we decided to hop on one of those double decker tour buses that I always make fun of. &nbsp;It seemed like a good option that would allow Kenz to be able to sit, but still see the city. &nbsp;So just like eager little tourists, we climbed up the stairs with our cameras in hand and found a spot on the top of the bus.<br /><br />Turns out it was actually a terrible idea because it was freezing on top of the bus, and down inside the bus she felt nauseous and car sick. &nbsp;So, darn.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MyTr7F89oaQ/Vs0yr3naB0I/AAAAAAAALnA/kz-PaZZ69_I/s1600/IMG_4007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MyTr7F89oaQ/Vs0yr3naB0I/AAAAAAAALnA/kz-PaZZ69_I/s640/IMG_4007.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />But the bus did take us to this incredible spot where we could see the skyline and the bay bridge. &nbsp;Beautiful.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tG99-pROEg8/Vs0ysHH5wRI/AAAAAAAALnI/fP9Sr9iljaI/s1600/San%2Bfrancisco%2Bpanorama.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tG99-pROEg8/Vs0ysHH5wRI/AAAAAAAALnI/fP9Sr9iljaI/s640/San%2Bfrancisco%2Bpanorama.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-geD0OwdFOvY/VuIyQmz8naI/AAAAAAAALss/qp5vA2OSU68UJElxZHNCtG1-pInzEtpCA/s1600/IMG_3997.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-geD0OwdFOvY/VuIyQmz8naI/AAAAAAAALss/qp5vA2OSU68UJElxZHNCtG1-pInzEtpCA/s640/IMG_3997.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />And being on top of the bus was pretty cool as I got to see things from a vantage point that isn't all that common.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OS1tHbIo-UM/Vs0yr5SS3MI/AAAAAAAALnE/oSKKl4hXb7I/s1600/IMG_4033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OS1tHbIo-UM/Vs0yr5SS3MI/AAAAAAAALnE/oSKKl4hXb7I/s640/IMG_4033.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br />I hope McKenzie will have great memories of this vacation even though she was sick. &nbsp;I think she'll remember Alcatraz, and I think she'll remember our crazy bus driver (who for some reason was obsessed with talking about nude people) who kept shouting "Happy Valentimmme's Day!" to everyone passing along on the street, and I think she'll remember the random 3D interactive adventure ride we did where our purpose was to shoot crazy people in cars (?), and I think she'll remember the hours of playing scum and nertz in our hotel room, and on the ferry to Alcatraz, and in airports, and I think she'll remember chocolate at Ghiradelli's, and that she does not care for wood fired pizza. <br /><br />But I hope, most of all, that she remembers the happiness. &nbsp;I hope she remembers the love. &nbsp;I hope she remembers the beauty.</div>Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150657897645335754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19344949.post-46868014126824715402016-03-02T14:14:00.000-08:002016-03-02T14:14:07.748-08:00Twelve<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-n_4GLWFOMkw/VtZkpSfnBTI/AAAAAAAALsE/0kfelxJNwbA/s1600/IMG_3086.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-n_4GLWFOMkw/VtZkpSfnBTI/AAAAAAAALsE/0kfelxJNwbA/s640/IMG_3086.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br />My McKenzie.<br /><br />I've embarrassed myself recently with how much I talk about this girl. &nbsp;I can't help it though. &nbsp;She's just so amazing. <br /><br /><i>So</i>&nbsp;amazing.<br /><br />The other night as Brian and I were getting ready for bed, the topic of McKenzie came floating into our conversations. &nbsp;(Side note: Now that I know just how much parents talk to each other about their kids, I would be fascinated to be able to go back and listen to some of the conversations my own parents had about me throughout the years. &nbsp;Wouldn't that be interesting?)<br /><br />"I am so impressed with McKenzie lately," I said. "I don't even know how to put it into words, but... she's... she's... ..."<br /><br />"She's a good kid," Brian helped.<br /><br />"Well, yes... but it's <i>more</i>&nbsp;than that," I said, still searching. &nbsp;"She's... an Amazing...&nbsp;<i>Person.</i>"<br /><br />Brian was silent for a couple of seconds, and then started nodding his head in agreement as the weight of that subtle change of words sunk into his heart.<br /><br />She is. &nbsp;She is an amazing person. &nbsp;You know how when you hold an unlit firework in your hands and you can't believe that something so small can create such a big and powerful explosion? &nbsp;That's how I feel about McKenzie. &nbsp;She is packed with so much potential that I&nbsp;believe she really could do anything<i>.</i>&nbsp; (Except maybe map her way through jungles and deserts, or towns and cities, or home from her piano lessons that are less than a mile away. She has a <i>terrible</i> sense of direction.)<br /><br />She turned 12, you know. &nbsp;Twelve years old. &nbsp;It's a big age for us because this is the age that she steps from the children's organization of our church into the youth organization... this transition provides for me a measure of tangible evidence that she is, indeed, growing up and entering into the wonderful and confusing world of adolescence. For so many years she has been traveling along Child Road, learning along the way the <i>whos</i>&nbsp;and <i>whats</i>&nbsp;of life:&nbsp;who God is, what she is doing here, what kindness feels like, who<i> she</i> is, what sharing is, and caring is, and honesty, and faith, humility, service, punctuality, trust, love...<br /><br />She has traveled well and has learned much.<br /><br />But now she finds herself at a bend in her road, standing beneath an old road sign with one wooden stake pointing the direction from which she came and the other pointing the direction to which she faces. One marked CHILD, one marked YOUTH. &nbsp;Along this new road she will find that her lessons are much more focused on the&nbsp;<i>whys</i>&nbsp;and <i>hows</i>&nbsp;of life:&nbsp;how to be faithful, why one must have charity, how to be compassionate, why she should strive for honesty and humility, how to deal with disappointments, why one should be hopeful and grateful and prayerful...<br /><br />She will travel this one well, I'm sure, and will learn much.<br /><br />She has a lot of helpers to lovingly guide her along.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8kvFAt8QfEg/VtZkpjWdKxI/AAAAAAAALsI/RQ-JkvjxX6k/s1600/IMG_3689.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8kvFAt8QfEg/VtZkpjWdKxI/AAAAAAAALsI/RQ-JkvjxX6k/s640/IMG_3689.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />The night before her birthday, she and Grandma snuggled up on the couch and Grandma told her all about the memories she had of McKenzie's first few hours and days and weeks and months of life. &nbsp;It was a truly beautiful moment.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tHCjtGcSukg/VtZknYgsubI/AAAAAAAALrY/dUaT02u5EuY/s1600/20160203_223856-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tHCjtGcSukg/VtZknYgsubI/AAAAAAAALrY/dUaT02u5EuY/s640/20160203_223856-2.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><br />Brian and I, on the other hand, decided to go the&nbsp;<i>fun</i>&nbsp;route, and decorated the outside of her door once she was asleep.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z7-fVJJ5pVk/VtZknTN47nI/AAAAAAAALrU/e496d_BiuH4/s1600/20160204_071409-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z7-fVJJ5pVk/VtZknTN47nI/AAAAAAAALrU/e496d_BiuH4/s640/20160204_071409-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />The next morning (on the special day of February 4th) she came down to a table full of love... actually, she came down to <i>two</i>&nbsp;tables full of love. The one pictured above with love in the form of gifts and decorations, and the one in the dining room with love in the form of a delicious breakfast and seven happy people, pumped and prepped and ready to celebrate her life.<br /><br />Once she was off to school, I set to work making her delicious mint ice cream and Oreo cake which took me a few hours what with the shopping and the crushing Oreos into fine crumbs and all. &nbsp;But soon it was finished and ready to be put into the freezer.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1Jp91P2A1-c/VtZkn7MxD0I/AAAAAAAALrg/aRBH1kQhc2k/s1600/20160204_110209-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1Jp91P2A1-c/VtZkn7MxD0I/AAAAAAAALrg/aRBH1kQhc2k/s640/20160204_110209-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Somehow this happened. &nbsp;The entire blasted thing toppled from my hands and landed face first onto the mat in front of the freezer. &nbsp;I almost cried - but then I remembered that it was just a cake and that I had nothing better to do than to spend a few hours re-buying all of the ingredients and making it all over again (ahem). &nbsp;I took this picture to show my mother-in-law (who was feeling quite sick on the couch but was reading to Timothy anyway), and when she saw it she shrugged her shoulders and said, "Just put it all back in the pan. <i>I</i>&nbsp;won't tell anyone, <i>you</i>&nbsp;won't tell anyone, so no big deal," and when she saw the horrified look on my face added, "well, that's what I would do anyway, but if you'd like to make it all over again, you go right ahead."<br /><br />Actually, I <i>didn't</i>&nbsp;want to make it all over again...<br /><br />Everyone said the cake was delicious, and I would like to point out, completely unrelated, that no one got sick in the week after McKenzie's birthday.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rJbRXoOIXoQ/VtZkpdGhHSI/AAAAAAAALsA/s2dZRyXn9tI/s1600/20160205_201630-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rJbRXoOIXoQ/VtZkpdGhHSI/AAAAAAAALsA/s2dZRyXn9tI/s640/20160205_201630-2.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><br />The evening was lovely.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6COwaqW8D8s/VtZkoKSjExI/AAAAAAAALrk/w6giI9q_17o/s1600/20160204_165930-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6COwaqW8D8s/VtZkoKSjExI/AAAAAAAALrk/w6giI9q_17o/s640/20160204_165930-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />In the last few slivers of sunlight, Grandpa gave the boys a few basketball pointers,<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iHAN5SEB08Y/VtZkoUAkrYI/AAAAAAAALro/1mdBQ3eN8Wk/s1600/20160204_171945-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iHAN5SEB08Y/VtZkoUAkrYI/AAAAAAAALro/1mdBQ3eN8Wk/s640/20160204_171945-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />and McKenzie closed them out reading. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZFJUvKjMZyQ/VtZkoUH8-OI/AAAAAAAALrw/OgX2bkkpa5E/s1600/20160204_175303-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZFJUvKjMZyQ/VtZkoUH8-OI/AAAAAAAALrw/OgX2bkkpa5E/s640/20160204_175303-2.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><br />We had a delicious birthday dinner of home grilled steak, baked potatoes and corn (McKenzie knows how to pick them), and then we sat down around the breakfast table to open presents. &nbsp;We sat, and sat and sat, waiting for McKenzie who was behaving far too much like a teenager for my own liking:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rRaKWCsbEwc/VtZkp-5b2yI/AAAAAAAALsQ/DaOQ3vvVl2E/s1600/IMG_3734.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rRaKWCsbEwc/VtZkp-5b2yI/AAAAAAAALsQ/DaOQ3vvVl2E/s640/IMG_3734.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br />Feet up in the air, talking on the phone. &nbsp;Thankfully it was to her Aunt Michelle and Uncle Jake and not to her boyfriend (to be clear, she doesn't have a boyfriend), but still... feet up in the air?!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O3jABnCZ47M/VtZkp7vz9EI/AAAAAAAALsM/TSw5hvR6Ax8/s1600/IMG_3738.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O3jABnCZ47M/VtZkp7vz9EI/AAAAAAAALsM/TSw5hvR6Ax8/s640/IMG_3738.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />After talking to Michelle and Jake, she got another phone call from Uncle Brian. &nbsp;So we waited some more.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XSoXe7RLzXU/VtZkqPKffNI/AAAAAAAALsU/y-jH6qXc-3I/s1600/IMG_3751.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XSoXe7RLzXU/VtZkqPKffNI/AAAAAAAALsU/y-jH6qXc-3I/s640/IMG_3751.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>Eventually she joined us and the unwrapping was a success. &nbsp;She's getting good these days.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lrEl3K5SR5A/VtZkqT9RJxI/AAAAAAAALsc/IqpHsul4F7Q/s1600/IMG_3766.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lrEl3K5SR5A/VtZkqT9RJxI/AAAAAAAALsc/IqpHsul4F7Q/s640/IMG_3766.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div><br />Brian and I gave her a trip to San Francisco, just the three of us. &nbsp;One of her favorite gifts ifIdosaysomyself.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/--BcYxW9EvgQ/VtZkoQtUurI/AAAAAAAALrs/pThHCJ30dr0/s1600/20160204_211512-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/--BcYxW9EvgQ/VtZkoQtUurI/AAAAAAAALrs/pThHCJ30dr0/s640/20160204_211512-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Following the presents, we all hopped into the van and drove to the gym where we watched her play a great game of basketball.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QApQh-uKPtM/VtZkqRK0YyI/AAAAAAAALsY/XBFch_slOr4/s1600/IMG_3774.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QApQh-uKPtM/VtZkqRK0YyI/AAAAAAAALsY/XBFch_slOr4/s640/IMG_3774.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Some of our party was bored, but they were all good sports.</div><div><br /></div><div>The following day we finished off her celebrations by inviting twelve girls over for pizza, minute to win it games, and cake.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q3PQOC1HIiA/VtZkojDMLrI/AAAAAAAALr4/3HRvozFM6mo/s1600/20160205_182554-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q3PQOC1HIiA/VtZkojDMLrI/AAAAAAAALr4/3HRvozFM6mo/s640/20160205_182554-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div>It was nuts.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sCyrVBOVoNA/VtZkoyRNQ-I/AAAAAAAALr8/ZnSIJNxUiO8/s1600/20160205_183600-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sCyrVBOVoNA/VtZkoyRNQ-I/AAAAAAAALr8/ZnSIJNxUiO8/s640/20160205_183600-2.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>With the dining room full of girls (and Timothy), the boys were shoved to another area to eat their pizza.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3zp3leCF0xM/VtZko0ndzXI/AAAAAAAALr0/-OPqDwsSNG4/s1600/20160205_183409-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3zp3leCF0xM/VtZko0ndzXI/AAAAAAAALr0/-OPqDwsSNG4/s640/20160205_183409-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Happy twelfth, beautiful! &nbsp;</div>Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150657897645335754noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19344949.post-5711284257207849572016-02-26T21:26:00.002-08:002016-02-26T21:26:56.898-08:00Skiing - it begins here<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-j-vJr4D4XMw/Vs0snBGKcQI/AAAAAAAALkE/SEZ38JxyeIs/s1600/20160220_091615-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-j-vJr4D4XMw/Vs0snBGKcQI/AAAAAAAALkE/SEZ38JxyeIs/s640/20160220_091615-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>It's weird to me that I don't remember the first time I went skiing. &nbsp;I must have been (a little bit) older than McKenzie, and I must have been with my dad...<br /><br />I don't remember what it felt like the first time I snapped my boots into place, or what my first thoughts were about the sound that my skis made as they cut into the snow (which I love, by the way). &nbsp;I don't remember the lessons or the direction that I undoubtedly received from my dad, and I don't remember picking myself up from that first fall. <br /><br />I do remember some of those early feelings, though. &nbsp;The thrill of riding a ski lift (wait... there's no seat belt on this thing?! Freeeeeeedom! Also, wait... I'm safe up here, right?), the anxiety of approaching the <i>end</i>&nbsp;of the ski lift (I can do this, I can do this, ski tips up, please don't roll down the hill, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease...), the panic each time I reached the end of my zig and had to turn my skis downhill momentarily to get to my zag, the thrill of acceleration that came when I finally got brave enough to un-plow my stance and ride with my skis parallel to each other.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MDjUvhzUN2U/Vs0spmB-_7I/AAAAAAAALks/u7TnpJZ4KLY/s1600/20160220_161719-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MDjUvhzUN2U/Vs0spmB-_7I/AAAAAAAALks/u7TnpJZ4KLY/s640/20160220_161719-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />I loved remembering all those feelings as I took my own kids up on the slopes for their very first time last weekend. <br /><br />"My only goal," I told a friend the night before we drove up the mountain, "is to leave the mountain with smiles on all the faces."<br /><br />You see, something had possessed me into believing that I could take four kids, (none of whom had so much as breathed on a pair of skis before, all of whom had wildly different ages and temperaments), strap some slicked up pieces of plastic to their feet, place them on top of a mountain, and then get them all down without dying, without breaking, and without unhappy faces.<br /><br />A goal that, I realized about an hour into the morning, was lofty and ambitious at best. &nbsp;Impossible and spasm inducing at worst. &nbsp;Just renting the skis and getting outside took monumental effort. &nbsp;"Um," I said to Brian before we even touched our skis to the snow, "this is much harder than I thought it was going to be."<br /><br />Most of the Hard came from the fact that Timothy was grumpy. &nbsp;Grumpy three-year-olds have a super power of infecting everyone around them. <br /><br />He had been so excited the previous day. &nbsp;He'd followed at my heels happily chanting and singing an original song that he most likely would have titled Snow Party (if he were in to naming his original pieces) since the lyrics went, in a catchy rhythm, something like this: 'snow par-ty! snow par-ty! snow par-ty!' and I found myself singing along as I loaded the suitcases with coats and sweaters, wool socks and cotton gloves, hats and ski goggles, ski pants and coats, snow gloves and boots...<br /><br />But now, listening to the fifth tantrum of the morning, it was apparent that all the excitement from the previous day had died. &nbsp;Now he was just plain grumpy. &nbsp;He was layered from head to toe in snow clothes designed to keep him warm, but they only served two purposes in his mind: to restrict his movement, and to make him sweaty and hot.<br /><br />Of course, being hot is no fun for anyone but most of us have learned how to solve our own discomforts or, at least, to express them in coherent words. Timothy is getting better at this, let's be clear, but he'd forgotten all of those newly acquired skills and spent most of that first hour standing in line to purchase tickets, standing in line for skis, and wailing.<br /><br />Actually, it&nbsp;<i>was</i>&nbsp;hot.<br /><br />I was hot.<br /><br />Even outside.<br /><div><br /></div>So, before we even snapped our boots into our skis, we started taking off layers. &nbsp;Off with the hats, off with the goggles, off with the coats, off with the gloves (it was so warm I even skied some of the afternoon in just my short sleeved shirt tucked into my ski pants). &nbsp;Once the layers were off, things started to improve... and once we were on our way up the Magic Carpet for the first time (a fantastic conveyor-belt-for-humans thing that took us just 20 feet up the smallest slope and let us off to snail crawl back down), the smiles started for him - - - and they didn't stop until he was buckled back into his car seat at the end of the day, five minutes down the mountain, snoozing peacefully. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DvQMqrrgE7k/Vs0sor0JOiI/AAAAAAAALks/eOuwHEhrbI0/s1600/20160220_155847-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DvQMqrrgE7k/Vs0sor0JOiI/AAAAAAAALks/eOuwHEhrbI0/s640/20160220_155847-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Though I tried to split my attention evenly among all of the kids that morning, what ended up happening was that Timothy took 97% (since, when I wasn't paying attention to him, he was incapable of standing still and never actually grasped the concept of how to go, or how to stop, or how to turn, or how to function at all on a pair of skis), Miles took 2.5%, and McKenzie and Carson got a quarter of a percent each.<br /><br />Despite my lack of attention, McKenzie and Carson caught on quickly and were soon ready for bigger and better things, ie, the <i>bigger </i>magic carpet which took us about 50 feet up the mountain, then they were ready to brave the real ski lift and ride to the very top of the bunny hill. &nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div>But Miles progressed a little slower (probably something about only getting 2.5% of my attention), and was struggling and trying his best to keep his skis with the front together and the back wide apart &nbsp;in the 'pizza' position I had taught him during that 2.5%. &nbsp;He was <i>not</i>&nbsp;ready to go up the bunny hill when McKenzie and Carson were, but Brian excitedly said 'sure he's ready! Let's go!' and I knew that if we waited until<i> I</i> thought he was ready we probably never would have gone up. <br /><br />Side note: this illustrates one of the major differences in the way that Brian and I view the world. &nbsp;His philosophy is <i>Just Do It, </i>and mine is <i>If It's Worth Doing, It's Worth Doing Well.</i>&nbsp; We're so cute and balance-y. <br /><br /><i>Just Do It</i> won out on this one before I really even got a chance to voice my opinion, and I suddenly found myself swooped into the line for the ski lift, barking instructions to the kids. "McKenzie and Carson, listen <i>very</i>&nbsp;closely to me and I will tell you what to expect..." You see, I needed to ride with Timothy, Brian needed to go with Miles... and that exhausted our supply of adults - which left Carson and McKenzie on their own. &nbsp;I prepped them as best as I could and then looked to Brian with a rather panicked expression. &nbsp;"They're going to do great!" he pepped. &nbsp;Okay. &nbsp;Hopefully they won't need therapy later in their lives as they recall the time their parents left them to fend for themselves for their first time ever on a ski lift.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-C0p02Dd_J6I/Vs0so7IFNNI/AAAAAAAALks/TqrezqWBOGw/s1600/20160220_155902-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-C0p02Dd_J6I/Vs0so7IFNNI/AAAAAAAALks/TqrezqWBOGw/s640/20160220_155902-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div><div>And wouldn't you know, not one of us fell getting of that ski lift at the top of the hill. &nbsp;What's more, Carson and McKenzie looked like they had done it a hundred times. &nbsp;I can prove it - I got it on video. But the video is super boring... I was hoping for at least a tense little wobble. &nbsp;That was pretty much the last time I saw McKenzie and Carson until lunchtime. &nbsp;They took off down the hill and caught the next ride up seamlessly. &nbsp;Well, I suppose. I guess I have no idea how seamless it was as I never actually saw them. &nbsp;</div><div><br />Anyway, after Kenz and Carson took off, Timothy and I started down the hill at a rather slower pace and it was quite clear that he had <i>no idea</i> what was going on, and had&nbsp;<i>no idea</i>&nbsp;that he was supposed to be concentrating on learning something new.&nbsp; He was happy to hold my hand and was clueless to the lifeline it was to him. &nbsp;He'd look around, skis going every which way (even backwards sometimes), and only stopped to think when his skis would cross and I'd stop, point to them and say, "Uh oh - your feet are like a puzzle. &nbsp;Can you solve that puzzle?" (He's quite into puzzles these days and was thrilled each time his skis provided an opportunity for him to solve one... which was harder than you might think. &nbsp;The top ski has to be identified first, you see, and then you have to figure out which way it needs to move in order to get untangled.)<br /><br />I found that it was much harder to stop when you're stopping two people instead of just yourself. There were several awkward stances and a few times where I just had to pick him up and position his skis the way I wanted them. &nbsp;"Do pizza," I coached. &nbsp;He'd look down at his skies and, without moving them an inch exclaim, "I'm doing it!" &nbsp;He was so excited and <i>so cute</i>&nbsp;that I just simply could not correct him. &nbsp;"Okay, let's go!" and down we went. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GFMFjPWzRSA/Vs0spBFfYjI/AAAAAAAALks/Xvx0yUwkKA0/s1600/20160220_160816-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GFMFjPWzRSA/Vs0spBFfYjI/AAAAAAAALks/Xvx0yUwkKA0/s640/20160220_160816-2.jpg" width="358" /></a></div><br />Halfway down that first run, I turned around to see how Brian and Miles were getting along. &nbsp;Miles was sitting on the slope, obviously unhappy, taking off his skis in a huff. &nbsp;I watched Brian pick them up and slowly ski down to me as Miles stomped angrily down the hill towards us.<br /><br />"So, he's done," Brian explained. &nbsp;"He's not going to put his skis back on."<br /><br />"Uh, no way," I retorted. &nbsp;"He most definitely <i>is</i>&nbsp;going to put his skis back on and he's going to ski down the rest of this hill." <br /><br />"Linds, I just don't know what I'm doing... I can't help him."<br /><br />"That's fine... do you think you can take TK?"<br /><br />Blank stare.<br /><br />"Well," he finally said, "yeah. &nbsp;I can probably just carry him down the mountain..."<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hynxhC8jkTg/Vs0speiInvI/AAAAAAAALks/6fQF5nCgg3M/s1600/20160220_161046-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hynxhC8jkTg/Vs0speiInvI/AAAAAAAALks/6fQF5nCgg3M/s640/20160220_161046-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Side note: that is one super handsome man on those skis there...</div><br />Brian and TK left just as Miles was approaching. &nbsp;I put his skis down in the snow and heard him say, "I am <i>not</i>&nbsp;going to put those on ever, Ever, EVER again!"<br /><br />"Yes, you are. &nbsp;Quitting right here is most definitely not an option, Miles. &nbsp;We are not quitters in this family. &nbsp;You will put the skis on, and I will teach you how to get down the rest of this mountain. &nbsp;After we reach the bottom we can discuss whether or not you want to go back up, but we are not discussing that here. &nbsp;Now, let me help you get your skis back on your boots."<br /><br />He complied grumpily and I started teaching. &nbsp;I watched his demeanor change slightly for the better with each word of praise and when we finally reached the bottom I asked, "Now, how do you feel about going up one more time?"<br /><br />"One more time?!?!" he said with a smile as big as his face. &nbsp;"Not <i>one</i>&nbsp;more time... I'm going to go up one more time and one more time and one more and one more and one more, and I'm not ever, Ever, EVER going to stop!"<br /><br />Parenting success.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3I1ccxQ9rS4/Vs0uSvDevbI/AAAAAAAALk0/yINnbrriZm0/s1600/20160220_122657-2-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3I1ccxQ9rS4/Vs0uSvDevbI/AAAAAAAALk0/yINnbrriZm0/s640/20160220_122657-2-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />That was the end of the struggle for the day. &nbsp;Everything after that point was beautiful. &nbsp;Every. Single. Thing. Miles and I hung out together for the rest of the morning, and he was thrilled with how awesome he was. &nbsp;Which thrilled me. &nbsp;"Oh, ye-ah," he'd fist pump and head nod to himself when he reached the end of a steep section without falling. &nbsp;He mastered Pizza Skis and was soon turning down those hills at a clip of .004 miles per hour. &nbsp;I did a lot of encouraging, 'try to do French Fry Skis now! &nbsp;I think you're ready!' but he was too terrified to put them parallel, so, remembering my goal of happy faces, I clipped right along with him. <br /><br />We eventually did have to stop, but just for pizza.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2AaOLfOTOc4/Vs0snMJ4t_I/AAAAAAAALks/27_CBqNPmeM/s1600/20160220_132700-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2AaOLfOTOc4/Vs0snMJ4t_I/AAAAAAAALks/27_CBqNPmeM/s640/20160220_132700-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />And to take off our boots for a little while. &nbsp;And to try on other people's boots, just for fun.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fEN6GE6EObI/Vs0snFUnE5I/AAAAAAAALks/fWSWvaSs8m4/s1600/20160220_134425-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fEN6GE6EObI/Vs0snFUnE5I/AAAAAAAALks/fWSWvaSs8m4/s640/20160220_134425-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />After lunch, I brought my phone out of my pocket to capture a few moments... I'd been a little too busy focusing so intently on keeping all of my children alive during the morning to be fumbling around with my phone, but after lunch I only had to worry about keeping TK alive. The other three were doing a fine job of it themselves. <br /><br />I soon found, however, that keeping TK alive required almost all of my attention (remember the 97%?) so you can see that mostly the pictures were limited to the times we were trapped on the ski lift. 'Trapped' is a relative term, of course.&nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-s79EtHfvY4c/Vs0soUW9UiI/AAAAAAAALks/BGPMHHhCXl8/s1600/20160220_145054-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-s79EtHfvY4c/Vs0soUW9UiI/AAAAAAAALks/BGPMHHhCXl8/s640/20160220_145054-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />I couldn't figure out how to get the depth in this picture without being able to move... but it was a view that stirred fear in my heart... it was striking to me just how much air was between the bottom of Teek's skis and the top of mine... and then again how. much. air was between the bottom of my skis and the top of the packed snow beneath. &nbsp;He's such a little person. &nbsp;And that is such a long fall... I would have liked him to be a little more 'trapped'. <br /><br />If I would have been able to devote more attention to my camera, I would have loved to have captured McKenzie's face as she sped as fast as she dared - eyes literally sparkling with exhilaration and pride, chin up, mouth halfway open in a beautiful crescent smile, hair whipping along behind her. <br />I would have loved to have captured the way Carson's unzipped coat flapped in the wind behind and out to the sides of him, his arms outstretched like wings, his hunched over form putting all his strength into skis that were pointed downhill (to go fast) in pizza position (but not too fast), smiling from the courage he'd dug deep to find.<br /><br />Miles, his perfect ski hair bouncing along to the beat in his own head, traveling at .004 miles per hour, never, ever diverting from the comfort that the Pizza had become, punching the air and feeling like the world was his.<br /><br />And Timothy, hanging on to my hand, skis pointed in all the wrong directions, smiling, and laughing, and chatting away unceasingly. &nbsp;Stopping to touch the snow his skis shaved up, and looking so. darn. cute.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-p-9npXlJa2k/Vs0sqHgA2RI/AAAAAAAALks/GC8lYYTu1to/s1600/20160220_163212-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-p-9npXlJa2k/Vs0sqHgA2RI/AAAAAAAALks/GC8lYYTu1to/s640/20160220_163212-2.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><div><br />"Mom! Watch!"<br />"Hey, Mom! &nbsp;Did you see that?!"<br />"Mom! Mom! Mom! Watch me!"<br /><br />Over and over and over I watched. &nbsp;And then I'd ski down to a better vantage point and watch again. &nbsp;I watched, and I watched, and I watched. &nbsp;I clapped and I cheered and I pumped my fist as the kids went soaring past me, and I delighted in seeing them feel proud of themselves.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zRfAYbmg5Js/Vs0sp2MF-2I/AAAAAAAALks/phxPRi-nCCE/s1600/20160220_162356-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zRfAYbmg5Js/Vs0sp2MF-2I/AAAAAAAALks/phxPRi-nCCE/s640/20160220_162356-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />This picture was taken at the top of the hill just before our last run down. &nbsp;I didn't even have to ask for the smiles on those faces. &nbsp;They were simply there, just waiting to be captured.<br /><br />And at the end of the day, I realized that I hadn't even thought once about skiing myself. &nbsp;I had never wished to leave the bunny hill in search of jumps or narrow passageways surrounded by pine trees. All those winters skiing... all those Saturdays when I felt like&nbsp;<i>nothing</i>&nbsp;could be better than having the cold wind biting my cheeks while listening to the sound of my skis as they cut back and forth propelling my body rhythmically, comfortably, down a steep slope.<br /><br />All those Saturdays that felt as if nothing could be better than <i>that</i> moment...<br /><br />How could I have known that none of those moments would compare to this one? &nbsp;This one of standing still with my face pointed towards the top of the hill, waiting to catch a glimpse of my own child coming down. &nbsp;This one of traveling at a snails pace, or of holding the tiny hand of my own child and leading him, laughing, down the snowy slope.<br /><br />So, in addition to those beautiful smiles up there, mine shined all the way from my heart. &nbsp;Because I now know something that they can't quite yet...<br /><br />I know what it feels like to share one of your own treasured moments from the past with your children. And to watch them start making it their own. &nbsp;</div>Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150657897645335754noreply@blogger.com3